Let Go

As days shorten and skies turn cold and grey, leaves began to change.

Growing weak they hold fast, fearful of what might become of them if the breeze pushes too hard.

And as familiar green retreats, the smallest of leaves whispers to her colored neighbors, “I’m scared.  What happens next?” Weighing the silence of their initial response she continues, “I mean, what happens if I can’t hold on?  If I let go?”

Prompted to wonder, the breeze carries their varied answers.

“You drop to the hard place. And you are trampled. And ground to dust.”

“You become part of tomorrow’s tree, perhaps?”

“I hear you are judged.”

“You meet the leaves before us. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“No. You’re consumed. By a mighty darkness.”

And, finally, “I hear you drift and float and fly. Imagine, if just for a moment, if we could fly.”

The little leaf wriggled. And she shook. And fearful more of fear than anything else she took a breath. She let go.

And now, witnessed here, she is not forgotten.