Why I Write

An orange leaf flitters to the ground

Its days in the branches of the great oak

Have come to an end.

What exhilaration the orange leaf must have felt

As it danced and swam through the air

Like a ballerina freed from shackles,

Until it came to rest softly, silently, on the ground.

Life high up in the great oak tree was good,

Or at least interesting.

Think of all the things the orange leaf had seen and heard -

The quarreling lovers stopping under the shady tree

To get a better look at one another

As they hollered and exposed their emotions to one another -

The enchanted lovers stopping under the shady tree

To get a better look at one another

As they kissed and exposed their emotions to one another -

The rains of Spring, both soothing and torrential,

Washing over the orange leaf

As it gives shelter to people and animals alike,

Unbiased and pure -

The lazy reader perched under the branches of the great oak

Feeling more content in the Summer shade

Than one can feel nearly anywhere -

I think of all these things the Orange Leaf must have seen

And I marvel at its wonder.

For it waits on high, softly and silently,

Observing the many passersby and their doings and undoings

Unjudging and impartial

Waiting for its time to soar through the air.

That brief moment, over all too soon,

Is one of the most beautiful and unique spells of time.

You can wait a year for it to happen, and miss it in a blink.

I too have waited on high, observing the inner and outer workings of life.

Seeing people, meeting people.

Seeing nautre, meeting nature.

Waiting for all those brief moments to appear.

Waiting to capture them in a word, or a phrase

An image or story.

That is why I write.