Staring out the window once again, fumbling with my necklace, I wonder if the trees feel anything when leaves fall off.
When they lose a part of themselves, a part that helped them grow, a part that did so many good things, did it hurt? Was there a pang of sadness right in the core of the bark?
And when the new leaf grew in, was the replacement the same? I imagined the snap of the final strand, the fiery vines splintering, letting go. I imagine it landing on the floor, gently, falling in a unique pattern.