I listen
to the sound of leaves
rustling in the wind,
and gaze
as they
seamlessly
release
their arboreal existence—
dancing into dream,
morphing into memory,
offering
the whole of themselves
back to the receiving,
generative,
Ground.
I listen
to the sound of leaves
rustling in the wind,
and gaze
as they
seamlessly
release
their arboreal existence—
dancing into dream,
morphing into memory,
offering
the whole of themselves
back to the receiving,
generative,
Ground.