Here I sit again,
Watching my tree,
Wondering how even one day can bring such dramatic change.
Wasn’t it yesterday when it was green and lush, unyielding, strong, unwilting against the summer sun?
Now the cold air has touched it with its silent fingers,
Unrelenting in the change it brings.
The leaves seem somehow more alive,
Right before they fall.
Glowing with color,
And then they show the beauty,
That is found in release.
The fragile arc of flight,
The leaf born aloft by the wind,
Floating gently to the ground.
There chubby fingers clutch that leaf in delight.
It is a gift,
Some great discovery of nature and seasons and change.
Smelling of the earth,
Feeling the crunch and the softness,
The color now faded.
And then those tiny fingers bring their treasure to me.
Her gift is no less beautiful because it has been broken, changed.
Love is evident in the gift,
In the offering.
The shy, wide joy of her smile.
And just as with the tree,
Will lead once again to a new season.
A new life.