Morning

When I walked,
this morning,
down a gravel path,
through trees lean and
indifferent, ivy climbing
up their bark like
lace, like hope,
I found my way
through the dampness
to a circle of flat stones
and knelt there,
noticed their hard edges
press into the hard edges
of my knee caps.

When the wind slid through
the branches between me
and the grey light, it
tugged at the frailest
leaves, the yellow ones
who had finished their
great role in the greenness
of things. They loosened
their grip on the branch
that had been their only home
and surrendered their
spot on the stage.

As they fell around me
like petals dropped
by a shy and distracted flower girl,
I bowed to their beautiful exit.

3 thoughts on “Morning

  1. Kerri says:

    Kirsten, I am grateful that you share your gift with us, grateful for how your writing reminds me to come back to the present.

  2. Deborah Krymusa says:

    wow..how beautiful.
    made me think of ‘dying’ (They loosened
    their grip on the branch
    that had been their only home
    and surrendered their
    spot on the stage.)
    bittersweet

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