Poetry: Untitled #15

In response to a tanka in response to my tanka of yesterday:

Lifted by the wind,
Leaves tentative as fledglings
Uncurl, stretch, flutter:

Plenty of time to practice
Before their fall migration.

[Crossposted, again, to just_tanka.]

Personal Note: Well, that was something else.

Last night the town fire siren went off at about 1:00 am, waking me up just enough to regret living next door to the station but not quite enough to do anything about it (like say a prayer for the firefighters or sell my house and move). What did wake me up were the red-white-and-blue lights outside my windows and the person calling, "Officer! Officer! Over here!" I fumbled on my glasses and opened the shades to discover two police cars and a fire truck in the parking lot, putting out what seemed to be a small, smoky conflagration in one of the dumpsters over the way. I couldn't quite make out the scene (there's a pine tree between me and the dumpsters, for whose presence I am usually quite grateful), but they seemed to have it well under control. Not being in a mood to rubberneck, I adjusted my shades to keep the flashing lights from dancing on my ceiling and went back to sleep. Nothing left this morning but a charred-looking dumpster. Interesting times, eh?