Only more leaves

If the night is dark,

the clouds obscuring the moon and the stars,

the streetlights distant at either end of the block,

and leaves have fallen,

and rain has fallen,

and more leaves have fallen,

you will feel and hear the difference.

Unless, of course,

you never felt anything

when fall came before,

the leaves crisp and crackling,

kicking up like fallen leaves,

not quite finished with their game,

or rattling unseen down the street

before the wind can corner them,

or crunching underfoot

perhaps like boxes of bran flakes with no milk.

It matters not,

the leaves are on their way to compost,

and one day merely making more leaves.