Circle of Life

Time loosens. The leaf releases its last thread and begins to fall. From somewhere above itself, it watches—no panic, only noticing. Veins that once ferried light now read like maps of seasons passed. The branch recedes, a memory of wind and work. The air turns the leaf slowly, teaching it how endings move. Below, soil waits with patient breath. The leaf understands: falling is not leaving, only arriving differently. It will become shade, then food, then silence that feeds a root. What was lifted by sun returns to dark, and what returns will rise again. The leaf touches ground, and the circle closes without a sound.