Riding our bikes along the levy trail,

the willow tree’s branches

hang low over the path

in the early afternoon haze.

 

I reach up like a thief

to grab a handful of leaves,

mischievously tossing them up in the air.

 

As they scatter and float in the wind

behind me, riding through them,

she reaches out to capture a few.

 

Later, the rescued leaves

are added to her collection

placed inside a book

with a worn and dog-eared cover.

 

Although the book already has a title,

she tells me she's given it a name of her own making,

lettered in gold on the edge of the binding

tucked away in a library she tends in her heart.