Of Endings

Some trees are still full of leaves
But they are in the minority now
Soon all the trees will be bare
Only a few shriveled leaves hanging on in the crisp air
A fate that was clear from the moment
The first leaves appeared in March or April
A fate that shadowed every summer day
Like a sky full of puffy white clouds
A fate that is now heavy in the air
Seemingly pulling the leaves off of the trees
The ones that are still full of leaves