Ode to a dying leaf

I squint into the early morning sun
As the windscreen slowly clears
And the frost sparkles on the uneven footpath

The little leaf curled up, foetus-like to ward off the chill that has caused them to fall.
Too little, too late -
They will never fly back up to the tree.

In a few months new buds will spring
Then green will sprout and grow and live
again

Then fall again and curl up again
to forever sleep on the ground outside my house.
While I wait in the car for the windscreen to clear.