A Pile Of Leaves

A thousand leaves had fallen the day he chose to go, so many thoughtful colours perched on a drift of snow. The preacher and his flock were out to hike for God collecting pious thoughts to add to ancient stock. They sang of truth and love of brothers in the fold and from the sky above unbidden now and cold came flakes of crystal ice, invisible their path a nuisance had been sent perhaps it was God's wrath they sang, God, we repent. And in the tallest tree a spider's child observes just how a spider weaves a net of lines and curves. Gone was the pile of leaves.