The treetops flutter,
swaying in the wind,
gracefully,
like dancers on a sky-blue stage.
The rough-barked trunks groan
and sigh
like souls weary
from age and wisdom.
The gods breathe on the treetops,
like you would to
a new sprout.
a leaf spirals down,
lazily,
like a boat drifting on the sea,
until it softly kisses the ground.
A seed is slowly worked,
this way and that,
looser and looser.
It drops onto a branch,
and rolls,
down to the earth that gave it Life.
The cycle
has begun anew.
