LANDINGS

How the trees murmur

like serious doves to their

waning leaves in their leaving…

 

You must let go, child.  Fly.

 

Silent as a Sylph the joining breaks,

the umbilical veins from tree to foliage

sever and you can never

 turn back.

Does it hurt to land?

Maybe.  But perhaps no more

than it pains us

to grow.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2021