A squirrel lands first,
Out of the walnut tree
And with the swoop of her tail
She commands a cascade behind.

The leaves twirl, sashay downwards -
Too light to bounce -
Faint crinkled thuds 
Stuck between dried blades of grass.

Except - a speckled yellow walnut leaf
Lands gently on my knee.
A scrap of warmth,
Measly tatters of a blanket
Once grown from the sun's heat.

Now, the squirrels and I are left bereft -
Without even glinting sparkles 
Of spider’s lace,
Woven through dying lawns.