My circle of life is waning as the season is changing.
I can feel it in my skin, the dryness, overpowering. My skin is brittle, ready to crack. It’s already beginning to break off, piece by piece. I long for some rain to let me stay a little longer, to let me be the observer high above the ground looking down on the earth that has too, become dried up and old. How I long for my daily summer moisturizer, the warm, humid air that sustains my healthy, green glow and supple beauty. I am itchy with this parched skin. My beautiful color and shape are leaving me, as they do the same time each year.
It happens every year, but I will never accept it! We are swept away from our homes, up and down, twirling and swirling until landing gently on the hard surface. It is an eye-catching sight, our beauty diminished, but still a display that many relish. Our brightness gives way to muted, softer tones and together we are no longer the colors of the birth, but of the fading fire, as it dies.
I can hear the crunching as the leaves down below break into small, indistinguishable pieces, nothing left of their earlier, symmetrical shape, unrecognizable. Are they oak maple, elm or birch? My heart breaks for those below me. I am still here, proud and strong, my veins deep and sturdy. I will be the last to leave my tree house!
I can hardly hold myself up, and look to my lifesaver, my sunshine. I am weightless now, the water gone from my skin. I try to look up, to use my strength, but I am a slave to the strong breeze that flows through my tree, through the other leaves still fighting for their lives. I too, will fight, and hold on to my branch, my strong arm until I succumb to the occurrence that is inevitable.
Soon I’ll be able to break away and float in the direction the wind chooses to take me. When I do, I will let go, accept the cool air, and loss of control as it takes me back into the ground, my beginning.