They are the only ones who watch me. I am the only one who sees them. Two withering leaves with red stems and orange veins like sunsets. Two who should be gone like the rest but stay. Two determined leaves hanging by a thread. From the window, I can understand them, but my dog lays there not caring.

Their will is resolute. They hold tight to their branches. They blow left and they blow right and fight the wind with their pointed tips and grip the tree with a stem unable to move and never leave each other. This is how they hold.

If one would leave the branch, the other would fall like a feather in a breeze, one without the other. Hold, hold, hold the tree howls when the wind blows. They keep.

When I am too tired and too worn to hover holding, when I am a minuscule spec against the unwavering wind, then it is I that turns to the leaves. When all the lights go out in the neighborhood. Two who hold against the wind. Two who remain tethered and do not fall. Two whose only reason is to endure and endure.