Following flight, a
leaf’s delight, the wind is their cue,
together they dive,
they are alive, remorseful are but few.
Like a winter storm,
though reflecting warm,
all sharing a golden
personality,
but differing hues,
in the paths they choose,
each expressing an
individuality.
One may drop, as if
to stop, under an invisible chute,
another may glide,
never changing stride,
with a landing
completely mute.
Too many will band,
in a rush to land,
forgetting to gaze
as they dash,
but a favorite few,
following a spiral corkscrew,
“kerplunk” with a shiraz splash.
There are those that
stumble, in a dizzy tumble,
wishing they knew
how to flap,
and there are even
two, who must have knew,
their target was my
lap.
With a glance
between, they must have seen,
my curiosity in
their end,
and as if they
sought, to share their thoughts,
they beckoned my ear
to them:
“It is not the end,
my friend, if you speak of dying,
for that is
something we do not know.
We live to grow, and
we love to show,
our brilliance in
the flying.
There is a way we
live, and a way we give,
that brings balance
to our soul,
we nourish the tree,
that lifts us to see,
just how far we’ll
get to go.
And when the time is
right, we take our flight,
dancing our way to
the ground,
we have many
reasons, to give-in to seasons,
for next spring is
where we’re bound.
We’ll be born anew,
reach a higher view,
a new flight will be
given,
we grow and we
share, we give and we dare,
to call heaven the
place that we’re livin’.”
And suddenly they
hopped, with life they dropped,
to find their place
of rest.
I sat back to think,
and let it sink,
all that they’d
expressed.
In my humble mind,
all I could find,
that I was heaven’s
guest,
and how we love when
we live, and the ways that we give,
are the ways in
which we’re blessed.