Poking their seedling heads through the crust of my page,
Crow, Leaves, Wind, Hawk, and lone Cricket
Stories form
Visions and magic as the
Blanket of cumulus clouds shake their
Energy down in misty Pointillist spheres, each with
Magic, each with
Blessing, each with
Message, to be discerned, distilled, decoded on whatever
Surface they paint,
Images forming, Truth creating.
__________
Laughing and dancing with you Leaves, sharing in your
Antics, cascades from Oak to mock modern human
Attempts to eradicate all
Evidence of the natural process. Control all, mold
All to tidy expectations of fairy
Tales of trees with leaves that don’t fall;
They must not interfere with the
Order most
Humans think best for life.
Leaves won’t allow false narratives.
__________
