Whipping, whirling, twirling, in ghastly circles with a tap-tap-tap of their feathered wings touching ground before swirling back up again, the leaves danced.
A dull whisper of a gust of air thrust the dry, crackled remains of the trees in boundless rings around vacant spaces on the ground, these invisible pillars of intangible size spiraling the leaves round and round and round.
Baby blue eyes widened in awe – her first glimpse of this simple wonder. She lacked a category for it — the spinning power of even the soft winter storm on the decaying leaves.
Their sound echoed in the chamber of the concrete driveway — crackling, laughing in the sheer joy of their boundlessness, these leaves rising once more above the earth before their final destination in the recesses of the depths of the ground beneath them.
Mounting their flight, they soared and dove in a circular rhythm, to an unsung melody, a rise and fall, a twirl and spin, their last breathes spent here in this gracious sway. Soon, they would take their last bow and surrender to earth’s appetite, but for these few moments, they sang their last song, spun their last swirls, and whispered with the song of the wind the Great Name.