”Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)
Clad in the golds and reds of triumph,
the leaves make the mountains a miracle,
the valleys a place of wonder.
And yet these leaves are dying.
They are about to flutter from the trees
down to the waiting earth where, in death,
they will become soft mulch,
brown mold, and indistinguishable earth.
And then, new leaves again.
And so they die, refusing to remember
other days long ago when they were
fresh little tendrils,
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