Every year, I hear people say “the leaves are changing”
To myself, I think, No, they are preparing”
The trees are putting on the ritz
Their best of dress
In celebration of impending death
It Takes a strong soul to acknowledge death is coming and simply shrug your shoulder, slipping on your party dress

Your best presentation of exotic glowing ocher and crimson
Translucent warmth defusing in the last moments of thick fleshy sunlight
Drunk on brightness and the inspiring apex of seasonal drift, the tree sways with the winds, dropping its party dress to its ankles
Standing there, naked, for all to bare witness, it presents its private parts
Proudly it stands, throwing its self to the unforgiving bitterness of winters breath
Proudly it bares the scars of carved hearts
Proudly it bares remnants of youthful mistake and triumph
“Go ahead, try me” says the tree with its hands on its trunk
“I’m a mother”
“I’m a father”
“I’m a home”
“I’m a nurturer”
“I work part time cleaning air”
“But most importantly, I’m a life”
“And I will remain rooted in this soil demanding your respect”
“I may not grow like every other tree”
“My roots may cause you to stumble”
“I may have unintentionally cracked a few foundations”
“I may get drunk on sunlight and drop my clothes in the front yard”
“Others may even be forced to pile my droppings”
“But mark my words, I’ll be here next season, I’ll be stronger and I promise you this; I may very well do it all again”

-Will Rau