Winter Leaves

At the end of a cold autumn I counted the leaves on our tree. One fell. The brittle thing in my soft hand. I walked inside to procure some tape. Once back, I secured it. My cheeks fell: two other leaves must've fallen. I scoured the ground, finding just one. Grabbing a branch to return it, the first leaf wavered—the tape gave way. Layers of tape secured the new leaf as the original plunged: sinking into the earth. Then another. I removed the tape, and let that leaf land in my hand. There must still be leaves in winter.