It is not the way of leaves
To care about how they fall.
It doesn’t matter
Whether there are heavy, thunder-filled
Clouds overhead
Or miles of bright blue and sunshine.
A leaf doesn’t
Cry out in pain if a harsh wind
Tugs it from its twig
Nor does it giggle with mischief if it
Manages to break free on its own.
A leaf doesn’t
Fret over which is better:
To swoop down in a wild, swirling canopy, a rustling riot of
Yellow magic with hundreds of others –
Or to flutter demurely to the ground
In a quiet, private moment.
Leaves never consider holding on,
Resisting destiny,
Afraid to take their part
In the inevitable pattern.
For the leaf, simply letting go is the thing.
