I am standing at an intersection, waiting for the lights to signal red to the traffic so I can cross. And a leaf, crunchy and furled, is tossed by the wind in to the centre of the two lane road. And I am nudging it with my eyes, willing another gust of wind to whisk it up out of harms way, to take it out of my sight, to blow it to the back of my mind. But it is sitting there shivering, vulnerable as a small child, it's sienna shell a stark contrast to the shark-grey bitumen, and the cars are bearing down upon it, and it leaps from left to right to escape the rubber, but the revolutions are merciless, I watch transfixed, as little shards break away emitting painful shredding sounds, whimpers. And then the traffic light pulses the green signal and my heels chatter irreverantly over where the leaf had fallen. I forget it's shattered corpse before I reach the footpath on the other side.