I am a leaf, falling from the tree that once sustained me, once gave me support, once gave me reason.

I am falling, completely at the mercy of the cold, cruel wind and the gravity that pulls me ever downward.

I fall and I fall, further and further from the only home I have ever known, from the only life I have ever had.

I fall, toward uncertain ground, an uncertain future.

Even my soft landing is no consolation. Where is my purpose here? Where is my connection? What will I become? I see only what I have lost above me.

My season as a leaf has ended. This life I had – far too short – was full of purpose on that tree; the shade I provided, the nourishment, the protection from the rain, the safe place to land, the soothing sound when the warm, spring winds blew.

I was there when the sun was shining brightly, and I held tight when the storm winds blew. I was there when the birds sang at dawn and I was there when the night creatures roamed below.

And now? What am I now?

I am nothing. I am only a reminder of what used to be.

Then again, the breeze whispers. Then again.

Perhaps, the rain murmurs. Perhaps.

What if, the clouds sing. What if?

Maybe, the owl calls. Maybe.

Maybe – I am not the leaf. Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe I am the tree.

Maybe this is just my season of loss. Maybe this is just my time of rest, my time of self-preservation, while the cold winds blow and the ice hangs from my limbs. Maybe this is just a time when I need to hold on, stand strong. Maybe now, when I can provide no shade, when I can offer little shelter, maybe now, when I can barely nourish myself, maybe now when the winds blow and the storms cause parts of me to break, maybe now, all I can do it wait.

Maybe.

Maybe spring will come.

Maybe one day I will feel the buds begin to grow again. Maybe one day I will have enough within me to leaf out, to grow, to shelter, protect, nourish and soothe once again.

Maybe.

Maybe it will not always feel like winter in my heart.

Maybe.

Maybe I am the tree.