long autumn shadows stretch across the pavement and it might just be that everything has stretched out time and thought and hope and love and life and mystique all smeared across the day like shadows smear across the ground it's a slowing of the mundane as the mood grows sadder winter's melancholy is moving on the wing
under storm clouds bright silver light shines like headlamps through fog
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
&
darkness descends
and i can’t help but wonder whether they have leafy dreams, and — if so — what a tree’s dreams feel like?
