The Last Red Leaf

Oak Hill Cemetery is a quiet respite from the busier, more tourist-haunted parts of Georgetown. On an autumn afternoon, the trees glowed in the slanting light. With so many golden leaves all around her, the woman who stands on the Lanston memorial reached up for the last red leaf on the branch above her. There she was, arm perpetually raised, gazing at the leaf that remained just out of reach. For a moment, I searched for some mournful significance in this, but those rustling curtains of golden leaves all around me blew it away.