tumbling unabashed

   

does each leaf know

the moment it breaks bud

that there are thousands others

like itself

opening in time

 

to catch the light

and send it coursing

down the tree as food

each one contributing its nurture

to the whole

 

is there perhaps a moment

when the summer breeze

turns its face a fraction

and causes opened palms

to touch

 

or is it content to know

only its connection to

the source and the recipient

the same

to simply hang and be a leaf

 

could it know

that what it thusly feeds

becomes food for next year’s bud

was it never told

it could not be

 

so

as it watches others fall

releasing their attachment to

being, certain ways

can it feel the change inside itself

witness its own beauty

 

with no fear of isolation or regret

is it merely as it seems

a letting go

followed by a dance, a settling  

down to join the others on the floor

 

and is it then perhaps, it knows,

as absorbed by earth

and drawn again by life,

it at last loses its identity

as leaf,

 

that it is part of something vast

 

and as you whiz me by

do you know each word is chosen

in the shaping of a poem

or do you not,

worried as you are about turning the right color,

ever even see the tree

  

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M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

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