Everyone is gone, fallen to the depths. But I’m hanging on.
The world grew cold. The others changed. I must have changed, too. But I don’t want to let go.
We once numbered in the thousands. But I am the last of us. I don’t want to go.
The cold air bites. The wind pushes and spins me. I’m trying to hang on.
I lose my grip, no longer attached to safety. I flutter in the breeze. Twisting, falling.
I land softly, reunited with the others. Once green, we are now brown and yellow and orange. But we are together again.