If you listen closely, you can hear the tears of the leaves,
As they let go of the twigs that adore them.
They flutter gently to the ground.
Their graceful suicides silent to everyone, except their beloved branches.
One by one, the trees ignite themselves
and we watch their soundless self-destruction unfold.
Whole forests go up in flames without smoke.
We are left with black and brown skeletons
that patiently wait to be buried under white.
I spend my entire autumn watching things die.
