The tree sighed as he bowed his bare branches,

his last leaf greeting the ground in a familiar welcome.

It floated to its place in the rainwater reflection,

a mirror into the past and of life in projection.

I observed as the tree and his two lives stood before me,

a perfect picture of now and then

and I comforted this ancient gentleman

as he met his winter self again.

No longer in his juicy coat of emerald green,

where sap swelled at every seam

and buds embellished each branch.

A garment hemmed with sweet dew,

carefully crafted for the seasons new.

From cradling nests in his intricate limbs,

watching as life took flight from his hands.

To the graceful bronzing of autumns’ flare,

a warmth of orange embers contrasting the air.

Worn with pride until the solstice arrived and

like a seamstress, plucked the burnt threads off his shoulders,

discarding them to the ground like scraps.

Crisp exhibits of the year’s end,

land in nature’s lap.

I watch as he mourns the cinder patches of his once worn forest jacket,

like ashes,

as they cling to the reflected arms of himself

in the puddle he stares back at.

“Spring will sew you a cloak again” I tell him

Reassured that he just has to wait,

for earth’s clock is always ticking

planning what it will next create.