Beauty Amongst Fallen Leaves
Be my compass and I shall run. One step calls for another as the needle guides my path through a forested wood. I pass back and forth. A majestic dance upon a fall filled floor. There is no right, but also no wrong, for within the direction of this compass I am steadfast upon a single path.
A brush of leaves sweep over me. A wavering leaf flows slowly behind the ohters begging for a glance into the distance from where it came. A little tilt back and arm outstretched to balance myself amongst the fallen leaves, I look up. And through the flowing brush of the canopy I see the brach from which the humble leaf fell, for in its place a passing ray of light now dwells.
Focused upon a direction different from the rest, the light flows as the needle upon my compass, adament of its path. I follow it through brusseling leaves that convex and concave its form with each breeze, forming a ripple amongst the canopy. Down the tree it passes many others, unhindered by their plee, for on the ground a little sprout amongst fallen leaves clings to the ray that came from a fallen leaf.
I sit amongst the leaves, compass in hand, and gaze upon this spout that brings life to the array of decaying leaves. I watch the sprout with empathetic anticipation. The moments pass, but without length, for as I dwell upon its journey the single bud upon its stem begins to move without a breeze. One fold at a time falls back, basking in the warmth of a ray that came from a wavering leaf. A wildflower amongst oaks. Beauty amongst a bed of fallen leaves.
