Sometimes I think that death is
like when a leaf falls from a tree.
You look up and hear and see
a rustling, colorful mass.
one breaks free
and for a glorious moment
(who can say how long it may seem?)
that leaf swirls
catching light and casting shadows like it never has before, nor shall again
until it reaches the earth
and nourishes the growth of new trees.
(See also Rachel D. Levy’s essay, The Philosophy of Leaves and Whittaker Chambers’ translation of Bambi, Chapter 8)