the river dawdles; the colorful leaves stick firm & still
red leaves, lit by the late-day sun, flare orange
A falling leaf is my teacher. It craves nothing. It fears nothing. It surrenders itself, but does not submit. It will not be hemmed in for long, for its patience is infinite.
A leaf falls, spinning as it drifts downward. Then, for an instant, it seems to pause in the air before continuing to drop, twist, and flutter. I question whether the leaf stopped, my mind stopped, or the universe stopped. Probably, nothing stopped -- a mere momentary balance of updraft and gravitational pull, an unstable and ephemeral equilibrium, like a spontaneous retention of breath -- usually missed before it can be noticed, but just this one time, I was witness. a falling leaf seems to pause in air, and I am there
i see a leaf amid leaves
the tree is covered in creepers
these leaves churn out power
— silently —
each leaf making miniscule food,
but there are so many —
and so many hours of daylight,
and they take no breaks
they sit in tight clusters
waving in wind
still in stillness
— but ceaselessly working —
until the day is done
and i can’t help but wonder whether they have leafy dreams, and — if so — what a tree’s dreams feel like?
The top pic reminded me of a line of poem I once scrawled: “I see a miracle in each leaf.” The little guy seems pretty fascinated anyhow.
What is he (or she–we weren’t that well acquainted) thinking?