Living like a wilted brown leaf, detached, unsure and alone, riding the wind in an endless series of wasted motions. No clear courses or paths, no destinations, no control. If leafs could feel would they feel that void: what was missing, what they'd lost? Would they be accepting, would they view the bigger picture? Could they grasp the endless cycles of life and death, up and down, this way and that? Or would it all end in questions, why? what now? Would they realize their value? That their purpose extended beyond living and being lush and glowing green; to dying and decomposing to aide in the life of something bigger than they?
And how can it be that contemplating lends to tears and not understanding?
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