2002-10-02 3:16 p.m.

I usually leave the top off my car unless there is a risk of rain or a homeless person urinating in it. This is one of the best reasons to live in California.

Today I found a present waiting in my passenger seat. It was the first leaf of autumn for me—the first time I noticed that the trees were getting ready to change fashions.

I kept it with me for the one–hour drive home. The leaf and I did not really talk much the whole way home. Leaves don't tend to be good conversationalists, at least not the leaves I have met. This one sat silently while I sang out songs that I made up as I went along.

When we arrived in San Francisco, I sat the once–green leaf on the ground outside of the car. She would be happier there than in my car or my house. Nature surely had other plans for her—mostly plans involving decaying into the sweet smell of autumn.

It was generous of Leaf to pay a visit to me on my own turf. I was happy for the friendly reminder of the seasons. It was a tickle in the side alerting me that the fall's approach was more serious than the casual flirtation I had assumed.


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