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a brittle leaf in autumn
plucked from the stability of its tree
the tree that brought life to its veins, color to its surface,
luster to its skin, passion to its purpose.
pushed away or pulled from it,
separated regardless.
bandied about by the winds of a late and unexpected storm
coming to rest, wet and cold, in a lonely and desolate place
soon to be covered in winters first snow
will new life spring from its seed in the coming season?
will it wither and decay and return to dust?
Only its Maker and Master knows its fate
one can only surmise until fate reveals itself
in the spring
C.Lynn Ferguson
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