Once this one strummed warm golden rays, shivered upon raindrop greeting and mused about deep roots and high branches. It wrote poems with its purpose, stretching to fill spaces with green and bless the breath of its more animated brethren. As in the design of the great circle, the fall will permit the elements to reduce it to dust to tickle some puppy nose and then rest upon embracing earth.
A fair trade, I think, a fistful of my words for a few minutes of her sweet oxygen.

The fallen leaf, some evening in Sanctuary.