Hope

Does the tree

hope for spring?

When its leaves turn

yellow,

orange,

brown,

then fall —

blown by the wind,

gathering in the corners,

does the tree see a past self?

Can it know

spring will come

in a few short months

bringing a new

self?

And does it wait patiently;

or does it sit anxious

in its dormancy?

Gone now —

taking space,

casting little shade,

bearing no fruit,

yet its roots hold fast,

branches elastic in the

wind

and the rain.

I feel there is reflection

in its silence,

wisdom

in its rest.

While its beauty —

based on ornamental foliage —

tells of life,

I find a humble example to learn:

for renewal

one must not rush

into expectations.

Growth,

outside of its time

will bear nothing

but more of itself

piling high in fields

of toil.

While waiting —

simply waiting —

conditions the spirit

for a lasting season.

Where the product of reflection

seeds new life,

and presence

coalesces in the

first fallen leaf.

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