Perfection In Time

Everyone is deserving, at some time in their life, preferably when the work filled day has ended and a weary peace is settling on their shoulders, the one perfect leaf, a gift from heaven, floating down to their feet and resting still and poised as if waiting to be noticed, to be selected and saved and savored; one still and well-shaped leaf that also is at days end in its chores and is molded as if by clay into a perfect frame of a dance move with crisp swirls and fine-tuned edges and perfect patterns left over from some autumn song.  This leaf above was found a year ago and sits in a jar on a dresser that stands against the wall at the foot of my bed.  This leaf lies patiently waiting for me on certain days to pick it up and twirl it in my fingers as if the dance is not over.