The autumn wind came today. She didn’t announce herself, but sounded like the rustle of crinoline. She arrived in green to turn the leaves into a spectrum of falling papery confetti. I can see her enrapturing the sycamore at my window, dancing with the tree until she loses her clothes. This tree had caused dirt to drop on my parked car during the restrictions of the pandemic lockdown, and we had wondered if she may need to be removed. Seeing the autumn wind dance with her today, I notice her leaves are slightly curled from the erotic dance. Her leaves look different in October light, they appear to be draining of their summer security. I wonder do the leaves know that this is a dance to the death, that these are the fatal gusts of the rustling autumn wind, seducing the trees to a deathly slumber?
Looking at the tree through the window