The leaf falls slowly from the branch.
It dances briefly in the air
Before it lands softly on the ground.
Hundreds more will make their decent,
before the tree is naked and alone.
The summer was average and hot.
In July the tree was hoping for rain.
It was hot and dry and the leaves looked
old and worn.
The days were long, and on some days,
Never-ending.
The hot breeze was little comfort to the tree,
which yearned for the cool days of May.
August came and there was little relief.
The only solace was the night.
Particularly Sunset.
The time between the endless sun
and the infinite darkness.
Oh those few hours were the reason to go on.
In those hours its branches filled with life.
The songs of the birds were timeless and would
go on far beyond the trees small existence.
Oh those hours were filled with silent joy.
As the sun would set the songs would grow fewer.
And the night would come.
The breeze would pick up at times
and the tree was faced with only its
leaves to listen to.
During the nights the tree would
contemplate its existence.
It had seen the members of six families,
Spanned over four generations.
The children had climbed its branches
and played under its leaves.
Years before one man had put up a tire swing,
that...