The leaves don’t let go br that easily either. It takes a bluster, br a filabuster of north wind, br and the wasp-sting of the first br chill of late September br to tear them off the page br of summer. br br Persuasion doesn’t do it. br Sometimes in the middle of winter, br (the DEAD of winter, as they say) br you might see one shriveled br oakleaf, dangling from a frozen br filament of stem, br defiant, victorious. br br Nothing likes to end; br the October wind invites br the leaf to tango in the frosty air. br A shy curtsey, a twirling turn, br a pirouette, then the dance br is over and only the bare br fingers of the tree remain.