They stand tall in the thousands.
Momentous in their tear-shape patchworks.
Each attached to the tree limb by one thin strand, one so fragile
as a string tied to a kite in a summer storm.
And yet, here they now stand.
Spring has been loyal; the leaves grow ever
wild. An unfocused eye may see not thousands but yet one
woven tapestry of flourished green aloft the salt bark. The edges of the leaves
melding into one another – an artistry depicting tangled life and luster;
the smell of them sweet and ferment.
And I wonder, do the leaves know of Fall?
Can they foretell that their spines will brown; their bodies will
curl and thin like parched paper? That they will break from Mother Tree;
fall down unto the earth of which they’ve only seen
from high above
– where the fungi will feast
and the insects will nest and the
leaf will be swallowed by
dirt and dust –
do they know? Are they frightened?
When the days lengthen and the air begins to boil –
do they know that summer precedes
their doom?
Perhaps they do know, and the leaves, they
ready themselves like faithful soldiers on the frontlines of battle,
prepared to fall for those who will follow. Perhaps they understand that through
their decay they shall feed the roots of Mother Tree (as our own flesh will
one day feed the earth that we toil and strive to tame)
Perhaps the leaf is fearless …
When Autumn arrives, and the leaves
begin to fall, I wonder if they may fall with grace. With
a communal sense of courage and loyalty. For valiant is the leaf which falls with
honor, is it not? With gratitude for its previous heights – to fall in one wash of chestnut
and mottled yellow from the limb to become the soil. There
they will lie in the thousands.
And yet, here they now stand. And Spring is green.
And life is wet and sweet with color. The Fall – too far on the horizon to
fathom. I wonder at the impermanence of it all, but
my wonderings too, are fleeting.