Branches

I watch the leaves sway in the cool afternoon breeze of Summer. How can anyone love this? The only one who should be even remotely happy are the leaves. Even now, as they are allowed to hang, and I am not, the aren’t truly happy either. Only when fall comes, when the earth keeps spinning as the leaves die and fall to the ground, is when a leaf should be happy.

I’ve watched leaves fall for twelve years before deciding how beautiful the process of their death really is. From the time they unhappily bloom in spring, to their colorful and wondorus end, it is beautiful.

I watched the leaves fall for fifteen years before deciding that’s they way I’d go.

I watched the leaves fall for sixteen years before deciding to find a tall tree.

I watched the leaves sway as I climbed, up higher and higher still, before pausing halfway to look down at the spot I’d chosen. It was perfect, the tall tree sat on the edge of an even taller cliff. You could hear the mumbling of a far away stream, ready and wating for me to jump.

I watched the leaves fall, as I fell with them.