Among the skinny trees
one stands out
for no reason whatsoever.

Neither as wide nor as 
tall as its
siblings and mates, it extends from

the picturesque forest 
floor, sprints toward
an azure sky, stopping just short.

One of the last winds of 
Autumn (is
this the last wind of Autumn?) swirls

about reluctant to 
put itself 
to bed; working to outlast the 

season like children on 
bicycles
in middle September at dusk

as the sun sets a bit 
earlier. 
If the sun even sets at all.