Two days ago, on a still, sunny day, a thin yellow leaf falls from the
locust tree. Quietly, lightly, gently, in a moment it is lost in the
litter of leaves already fallen. But I know which one it was —
I see where it came from, I see where it lands. I stubbornly hold that
one particular leaf in my mind as long as I can, one among billions…
but it fades there, too. I remember the leaf, and I remember how it
fell, but the details blur. I doubt I could recognize it now. What
remains is the path it traced through me, and traces through me still.