Witness

by Ellen Rowland

Witness   by Ellen Rowland

There is a small stubborn leaf—no, two—
clinging to the wind-stripped mulberry tree.
Each twirls and dangles by an invisible thread
at the very tip of the longest reaching branch,
like suspended aerialists about to unravel their silks. 
Any minute now—any second, really—one or both 
will give way to the slightest nudge of a breeze, 
a gentle palm at the small of the back, and pirouette 
to the ground. Even as I notice them, willing them 
to hang on, I realize what a miracle it is to witness 
the handing over of one season to the next
in that brief moment between dark and light
before day takes its first breath.