I look out of my window
Green leaves reaching toward me,
They open their face to the morning sun
To capture its rays and turn energy into matter.
But one of them is brown
And it dangles forlornly
Hanging vertically by its scanty stem
And swaying with the caressing breezes.
I close my eyes
And imagine the leaf at the end of life
Its magical work well done, as witnessed by the growing tree,
Its reluctance to join its brown predecessors on the forest floor.
I open my eyes, Its morning
The Brown leaf is gone.
Mulch for the coming generations
2025