My feet wander

through the woods.

The cool air kisses my cheeks.

My eyes see trees

with roots peeking

through the ground

and branches that stretch across the sky..

I catch a crimson leaf.

It has been blown

from its post.

And I think,

it was probably comfortable there;

In its original position;

High in the air;

Perhaps it was proud.

But then it took flight.

There wasn’t wasn’t anything it could,

to stop the wind.

I had to happen

eventually…

The leaf is no long high,

no longer proud.

Its taken from home,

its taken from comfort.

The crimson leaf

is now on its own.