Today I sat and watched a leaf.
It was a Sycamore leaf.
If you know me at all it won't surprise you that I knew that immediately, even at 55mph and in a driving wind. The leaf was brown and crispy and it flew out in front of my van. The first thing I thought about was my dad who had just hit a deer a few days ago and screwed up his own car's front end. Thank goodness he was okay. If that leaf had been a rutting buck things may have turned out differently for me.
The leaf dropped in the road and sat there, even with the wind. I noticed its curled up edges and distinctive lack of elasticity. It appeared, if it had a soul, that its soul would have been broken. Like maybe leaving that big, white-trunked Sycamore tree when autumn came knocking was probably hard.
Where the leaf sat allowed me to drive directly over the top of it. Thankfully it wasn't a squirrel that would have run right under my tire. Nope, the leaf sat there.
I looked in my review mirror to check on the leaf, as if it was a squirrel, to see if it was still there. The curdled up old leaf I drove over was now in several pieces, each with crisp sides and floating on the wake of my van's 55mph.
Off those many pieces flew, into the trees, their souls at peace.