brown, red, orange and yellow leaves swirl and dance through the air
taunting me with lightness and freedom
I try to catch them
to prevent nakedness and vulnerability
but if I do
the brittle things fall apart in my hands
shedding and letting go may be the best thing I could hope for
this tree will grow back all the better for it
in the dead of winter it still holds out its branches
in hope that the water flowing in its veins
and the buds beneath the surface
will burst open in spring sunlight
I surrender too
trusting that by my little and continual earthly deaths will grow strong branches
a thicker trunk more securely anchored in the ground
wider limbs for shade
twigs that bear fruit
but first
I die with the maple
and wait.
