As the Leaves Fall
When my soul is tired, I take to the woods.
I do not traipse through them like a lumbering chipmunk -
truly the most chattering children of the forest.
No.
I curl up with a tree, borrowing its sense of patience.
There I wait for the awakening found amongst leaves filtering warm light for life first waking.
Orange, yellow, and red gems flutter and fall.
And in the quiet, I wonder -
Does this exist if it is not observed?
I do not know.
I only know,
When my soul is tired, I take to the woods.
But I do not implore them with my opinions or my thoughts -
my sense of self discarded when my walk began.
Yes.
In silence and stillness, I rest and wonder.
There I observe the ballet of the leaves where they fall in grace and make music upon descent.
The soft pitter-patter loud on the crisp air.
And in the rustling, I wonder -
does the symphony of the forest exist when no one listens?
I do not know.
I only know,
When my soul is tired, I take to the woods.
For I cannot risk existing in a world where the leaves do not dance and play.
Because of them, I have lived many more days.