I have to fight the urge to pick up every one of these spectacularly bright leaves when I find them strewn on the pavement. I want to pocket them, press them, rub them against my cheek, maybe stitch them into a quilt that will turn brown and brittle in days (okay, not a great idea). That is the crux of their loveliness, though, like snowflakes and fresh flowers they are utterly unperservable. The turning leaf is breathtakingly beautiful as it twirls down from it’s tree, as it lies in ruffled heaps amongst it’s yellowed counterparts. Enjoy us now, enjoy us now, they whisper as I walk through them.