The Blowing Leaves

The leaves on the trees are gently blowing, the branches bob and sway, they are dappled in the sunlight, they are translucent, their tiny lives mean nothing, to no one, but me, for I am the only witness of the leaves so gently blowing, and hovering, like angels waiting limp and solar, above the cries, yours and mine, and muting them with their leathery rustles, so that all we see are silent mouths, moving like the leaves so gently blowing, outside the window, while your arm moves across the space above your lap to pull your purse in closer to your body, and for a moment I remember, the texture of your skin and how it’s fading already, that memory, just like the light on the leaves you have become, ephemeral, in an instant, and our time has passed before us quick as the shadow of a plane as it streaks rippling across the sagebrush, and now I’m waiting for the sound, the trailing echo of the leaves that are still blowing, the testimony of the wind, that gentle, rhythmic heaving, that never ends.

o O o


4 thoughts on “The Blowing Leaves

  1. Beautiful Vinny. I love that we both wrote about trees. Except yours has this amazing picture, too. I’m feeling a little joy today, brother, and that’s a little unusual for me. Joy, joy, joy.

    • Joy is our God-given right. Demand it. Accept nothing less. It’s what He wants for us. We both looked up at the trees today. We both connected through Leaves of Grass today. Was that it? Walt, I bow to you. Thank you Clark. I am so happy I turned around in line that day and saw you standing behind me. Miracles.

  2. Everything is in transition. We just never really know…but we are surrounding by reminders..trees: our chance to appreciate joy, beauty, growth and constantant change…life fulfilling trees. Nice…

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