The leaves had been around for days. Not sure how they got there, but they enchanted me. They made me want to stare and absorb every ounce of energy they had lost on their journey down.
Their journey down… That’s strange, down from where? The sky? The heavens?
Always the tree.
Where did it come from? Standing so silently and effortlessly. Stoic. Lacking happiness, lacking sadness. It emerged from the ground, small and humbled, tormented by the screams of the wind. Berated by the fists of rain.
Over hundreds of years, grown into an apathetic being. Capable of giving life, giving energy. Taking life, killing.
Can it choose? Does it think? Do those long limbs crave the touch of my skin? Does the core fantasize of the open world, so much so that it would tear the skin from its own body?
Does it contemplate its spawn? How it was cursed with the inability to love? Such blessings the beings surrounding its massiveness take for granted.
Too deeply, maybe, has it mourned the loss of millions of children. Falling every year from harsh seasons and chilling winds, ripping its young from their fragile cords.
Then, that leads one to think of the screams… the screams of the murdered.
A slow motion dance of despair. Nature’s funeral. Which I merely watch, and see as a beautifully changed leaf, gliding down from a height I could never reach. Landing gracefully on the ground I have only ever recently learned to walk.
While my senses are deafened in absolute awe, a mother is mourning.
While I cleanse my soul full of fresh air, the winds laugh in triumph.
But perhaps not. Perhaps the tree produces oxygen through complex scientific processes. I breathe it in using similarly complex systems.
Leaves are lost to protect the ground below from the frigid frost about to come.
Winds come to cool what is growing too warm.
Everything stays. As it stays.
Everything is, as it should be.