What is this feeling?
This wrenching propulsion
To become the last leaf,
Hanging onto the last gray branch
Of a winter tree, quivering in the dawn sunlight.
This hunger to feel my delicacy,
My vulnerable position,
Poised over the ground,
Clinging to my source with
A thread of fiber.
I dream of breathing in the light
Of a new morning and surrendering to icy breezes,
To let the winds of the day embrace me,
And take me with them,
Instead of cherishing the illusion
That I am in control, that I must defend myself.
I feel my threads,
The sinuous fears that glue me in place,
I hear the stories I tell myself
About falling into danger, wrecklessness,
If I let go.
Through the maelstrom of my worry,
Soft winds tell me a new story,
Of hope, possibility, newness, blessing,
And I am listening.
The sun rises warm and yellow,
And I feel and safe,
There is no where to fall to.
I let go, trusting my winds,
And float, aware of how I am gently
Away from the ground,
and missed opportunities.
And I greet the sun
In Her new, vast, morning.