One of the trees out my window
is holding on to her leaves
for dear life.
They are shriveled, ancient,
brittle, used, light-brown
in color, and facing
the cold but bright morning
sun.
Some say that one needs to
give themselves permission
to die. Some hold on longer
than needed, while others say
goodbye upon first landing on Earth.
I'm not sure what it is with
these leaves. Are they survivors,
or merely afraid of flying?
Perhaps their mother tree
needs a little shaking.
No comments:
Post a Comment