By Hannah McAvoy
I look out the window, watching leaves shake and shiver. They should make music, should jingle and chime under the wind's spell, stem and flow. As I watch, I can hear their bell tones an unpredictable melody. Note by note, I watch them fall. A caesura. The trees sway nakedly groan a lonely harmony awaiting spring again. To an empty song as snow ambles from the sky.