I've lived my entire life in CNY and I was drawn to this beautifully simple poem because it was so visual on its own. It got me thinking, of the hundreds of thousands of leaves that populate a single Central New York maple tree each year, one is unknowingly going to be the “last leaf.” The one that will survive the frigid nights and the scorching days, the torrential thunderstorms and the surprising sleet. As the days shift through summer into autumn and even early winter, its companions will drift to the ground. Finally leaving one leaf left to linger until it can be coaxed to the ground by its eternal dance partner, the Onondaga wind. Then, we do it all over again.