One small leaf was being rolled down the pavement,
bowled headlong by the wind,
which sent it travelling at such speed,
as if the need was to use this power so vast,
to get to somewhere fast.
Then suddenly it became wrapped against a lamp post,
trapped.
It started flapping as the wind changed direction
and like a sprightly ghost,
was off again from its connection.
I was so sure of what it was,
but the more I looked at it,
I realised that it was only a tiny piece of a black plastic bag,
like a rag,
tumbling along the avenue,
stumbling over obstacles as it flew.
How can one be so deceived,
I believed in what I thought I saw.
I followed it as it tripped and skipped on gusts of air,
without a single care in the world.
Oh, how it twirled and whirled.
This my brief encounter with my plastic leaf,
My fantastic motif.
© Ernestine Northover
Leave a Reply