There are some turncoat leaves on the trees that are already giving up the fight. The first sign of shorter days and they turn yellow like the cowards they are. No hanging around on the trees till high autumn for THEM! No! They are in a hurry!

A hurry for what, I ask them. They do not answer. They have concluded that there is some ADVANTAGE to get going now while the going is good! Last one to the ground is a rotten egg! Little do they know the indignities that await them. The ground. The cold cold ground. They do not realize what happens down here. Gentle raking into the shrubbery, and oblivion, IF they are lucky! More likely a shrieking leaf blower will tell them where to go. A garbage bag! A shredder! The bottom of a compost pile! That’s right! First one down ends up on the BOTTOM, where they so deserve to be. To be dragged underground by a worm, to an early, unmarked grave. No selection and pasting to a schoolkid’s project for you, traitors!

We count on leaves to fight the good fight. To STAY UP THERE where they belong, and fight and forestall the winter winds as long as possible. Do they listen? No. These leaves we get today never listen to anyone.