The thick fog, reluctant to lift,
rolled away
only for the chorus of colored leaves,
in one last sunlit day,
in one last warm breeze.

A single maple leaf
spiraled slowly to greet us,
a coracle swirling in a sea of sky.
We looked across the lake,
at the detritus,
the fragments,
fallen from the bluffs,
fallen among the color.

We rested and waited
for the great crescendo,
for the grand finale,
as an osprey sailed directly overhead.