storm

For the first time in years, on Saturday morning I got up, got some oatmeal and coffee, then snuggled back in to read. The luxury!

At one point leaves left their branches so furiously outside my window all I could do was watch and marvel.

I've seen leaves bluster about before. Annually, really. But this? It was spectacular - rushes of yellow and rust aloft, trilling, racing, plummeting, done.

If those ones still attenuated there on high branches, if those ones could talk, what would they say about the exodus of their brethren? Would they embrace change so much better than humans? Humans who recognize our temporal nature but fight it, holding on tighter, despite the obvious, the known.

And is it the same leaf who regenerates in that same place next spring? Or is its essence imbued, sap-like, distilled?