I want to be like the maples,
letting go so easily of their leaves,
surrendering every piece of themselves
they no longer need, and embracing bareness
like a new suit they can simply step into.
But I’m more like the beech trees,
which cling to the husks of their leaves
long into spring, refusing to give up
even a scrap of who they once were
until the last possible minute.
Perhaps they need the reassurance,
or maybe they’re here to lend music
to silence of winter, leaves
beaten thin as tissue paper rustling
a lonely chorus in the snow-covered woods-
until April blows in, and with no other choice,
they say yes to the final scatter and release,
seeing again, as if for the first time,
how loss leaves room for something new.
Via: Silk Sneaker
