The leaves are beautiful on the greenest days.
I dance and sit
beneath a single tree
in the hottest moment.
Listening to the trees
whisper
nature's name.
As mid-fall arrives,
the green fades
into yellow and orange.
I watch as time
does not slow,
and I already see
how the world keeps spinning.
The leaves turn red and purple,
like the ones
that once flew past me.
I begin writing,
telling old tales
to the youngest of them.
Yet cool nights
and sunny days
do not stop
the deepening reds and purples.
I dance slowly,
one last time,
with gray in my hair,
knowing time is drawing near.
Each day brings
a new feeling —
of oldness
and of the present.
The leaves then turn brown
and fall away,
just like
the ending of the story.