The Lonesome Leaf

Somewhere in the turbulence of the frost, and the careening sound of the icy rain, I feel a slow turning of the wheels of life. I feel the sprouting of the first blades of grass somewhere on the expanse of the lawn. Awoken from its slumber, I feel "it" beginning.
Maybe its not a moment to rejoice. There is still snow on the ground, people still wear layers of wool and warmth albeit one less.
Its on the corner, its arrival in a few weeks is imminent. For now, I look at the sole fallen leaf that the melting ice uncovered. It lies like a corpse dug up, A sole remnant of its past life. It probably had a story, it probably meant something, but every ghost story exists in reflections in the mirror, when you turn around, there is nothing.