The death of a tree and me.

In my backyard there’s a dying maple with dirty leaves,

at least I thought it was dirt.

After a closer look I saw green skin

spotted with illness.

How sad, I thought..

as I realized this “dirt”

isn’t something that rain and breeze can cure.

I looked at the burning between my fingers-

followed the plumes of smoke upwards

as they kissed the leaves of a healthy chokecherry above me-

I watched as the burning shed its own grey leaves-

watched them scatter on the green ground

-watched them swirl into dust

as each new breeze delicately touched everything.

Then I felt a single drop escape my eye

and tumble down my cheek- down my trunk-

and soak into the roots.