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.