Though most trees have lost their leaves,
One still brightly blazes as a flame
As though reaping its own fire from sunlight.
As I bend to retrieve one of its leaves,
Panic of birds takes flight,
Up, up higher into turbulent light.
But even the amazing blue sky
Has not quite appeased one of the birds.
It breaks from the flock,
Flies southward alone, desolate—
It turns, catching the wind….
Soars as it seeks a singular voice.
It cries, it sings as though fed
From the source of its small heart,
First circles on the curve of its wing,
Then finally returns to perch in the branch
Directly overhead in the fire of the tree,
Finding, as I do, heaven alive in the light.