The end of leaving

The leaves were on fire-
Not burning without,
But smoldering within.
And all the while,
And we think about the tree.
We think about the cycles.
We try not to be sad in the fall.
We tell ourselves that the tree doesn’t die,
but that it merely let’s go-
and is reborn again in the spring.
But the leaves-
Those leaves that fall…
That are starved
And then let go,
That still manage to be beautiful
Even in death,
Drawing our attention…
Giving us beauty.
And joy-
In the midst
Of their end.
And they still remain graceful,
Letting go, often without a fight-
Dancing to the ground.
And they are not like the tree.
They are not
born again in the spring.
They burn within
And express themselves-
In color,
So that we can be reminded
Of our own
New beginnings.
That is the lesson of the leaf-
That some things are meant to go.
To end.
To never begin again.
But to do so
So that others-
So that the tree,
And the birds,
And the lovers
who rest beneath the shade of that which does in fact, come again,
Can understand their new beginning
In the midst of another’s end.


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