I feel a tree fall, leaves of bronze, scattering like notes around me
I hear them touch, each to each, ringing like weathered bells.
Through eons past but yet to come, the sound warps and weaves before my eyes.
Through first, to the last, then the next, then the first again, then the next once more.
Each leaf a heartsong, etched and polished by my careful hand, each one past but yet to come.
I feel a tree fall, a forest rise, and sing beneath the leaves.
