I wonder if the trees mourn the colourful death of their leaves.
Do winter nights feel colder?
Do the branches reach restlessly into the dark
Twitching along to the breath of the wind
Longing for the familiar touch of summer?
Does the bark of the oak grow thicker over time
Out of nature
Or is it out of necessity?
Little loves springing from buds full of promise
Only to fall.
It’s the way of the world
And it’s ok.
If the trees feel the sting
Surely that means spring
Has the capacity to bring
What was lost back to the earth
And everything in between
Has a time and place to be.
If trees can try again with the same enthusiastic burst
So can everything else.
The oak might reach for lost leaves
But instead find perched
A blackbird full of bones and life
Eager to fill the lonely hours with song.
Trees might mourn but the morning will always fill the sky.