Leaves broken in two as if split by an invisible wire upon their descent; into their new arrival to become one with the earth. Some say that it's every leaf's journey to make, but what do we know of the trifles of the shedding of seasons or the toll it takes on one's identity? To be broken for months and thus renewed. To be stripped and vulnerable. To be mocked until one dons that striped umbrella again, that decorative coat, or sequined headband. I admire your leaves but I treasure your limbs. The only constant and sacred thing about you, my dear.