All The Leaves Are Brown

I'm not sure why every leaf must die,

but in late Fall,

I sit out on my veranda,

or gaze out my window,

and watch,

as each separates from a limb of life,

and peer into their falling descent,

twirling, twisting,

weaving their own trail,

until finally resting on a patch of dirt;

a not-so final resting place.

It lays there, joining with a pack of thousands,

where once vibrant in its infantile greeness,

and has become a brown shell of itself.

From a bud to full-grown life,

to its death,

knowing, waiting for this secular moment,

almost human.

Then one day,

they are whisked away,

blown into the sands of time,

and when next gazing upon that patch of dirt,

they are no longer there,

That too, is almost human.

What is not human;

the miracle of their return.

The Mamas and the Pappas: https://youtu.be/N-aK6JnyFmk