What is it that keeps you attached?
And how do you fall when you finally let go?
What kind of wind is the kind of wind it takes for you to let go?
Is it a strong wind? A tender soft wind? A downpour creating a pressure even gravity can't resist?
What is it about that cottonwood branch, those other leaves that keeps you there?
When you finally do let go, do you dance towards your decay?
Do you spin and twirl with the vortex of the changing seasons?
Do you say goodbye?
Do you look up at the others waving as you leave, or down towards your eventuality?
What happens if you fall into a creek?
Do you get caught on the rocks as you pass, or do you continue on your path towards the oceans of time?
Do you anticipate the browning of your skin or envy those still painted green?
Do you ponder what'll come in your wake, or lucidly awaken to the passage of time?
Now. A time for stilling. Now. A time for Inward Reflections.
Ponderous of all there is under last years blanket of fall.
Flow. Flow. Awake. Awake.
What else is there to do?