Over the Youghiogheny river there is an old train bridge that rises high above the water on aging stone pillars. The bridge is now a walkway linking two hiking trails that end at steep cliffs along the riverbank. Far below, the river looks almost calm; the only indication of its swift current is the white froth surging around protruding rocks that occasionally catches the sunlight and animates the far off waters. Looking out past the bend of the river, an iridescent wood rises up to meet the thin, vaporous clouds and pale blue horizon.

Directly below the bridge is an eddy, where many gold and burnt orange leaves have accumulated, swirling in a slow mass by the shore. The leaves seem content, circling together, but every so often some leaves separate from the group, borne away by a slight diversion in the flow of the water. Other leaves arriving from upstream collide with the mass but never join, touching the outermost leaves in a brief greeting and disappearing under the bridge.

Your shadow appears, peering over the bridge railing with me at the eddy.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“It’s pretty,” is all I can think to say.

You exhale humorously. I want to tell you the story of the leaves but it seems too poignant in the face of the smiling crease at the corner of your eye. You lean in close and I feel the warmth of your forehead without the touch.

“Let’s go,” you say, jumping back suddenly. By the time I look up you are ten steps ahead of me. I walk to the other side of the bridge to look for the leaves swept away, but they are already gone.