There is a small tree that lives outside my window.
It has transformed before me its color for the changing season.
It prepares for winter by letting go of all its true signs of life.
Onto one branch clings a leaf,
It is the last to fall.
With the winter wind blowing a chill upon its bark,
The small tree clutches to itself the final token of life it possesses.
It will sustain itself throughout the long winter months,
To reach its reward come spring stronger for the struggle.
I will watch with great anticipation for the first buds to emerge.
For if this small tree can survive the harshness of winter,
So may I survive all the winters of my life.
Photo by Shannon Downey © 2015
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