The Post Modern Leaf and the Tree of Life

The Leaf  I’m alive. I’m new and unfurling from my bud. My greens ooze with majestic succulence. I, in short, am IT. All there is, and who would want to be more. Than me? I came from nowhere and I am alone. Existentially alone. Just me and wind as it gently (and sometimes just a bit roughly) sways me here, up here in the space of the canopy. The canopy that is all there is. There was nothing before me and there is nothing beyond me and the canopy. There is no purpose, nothing beyond. Me me me.But wait, I’m withering, turning brown. The wind isn’t so much rocking me as mocking and throwing me up down and awaaaayyy. I’m falling and I’m fading.

The Tree My little bud, my dear heart – why don’t you listen to me. Feel the sap rising through me out to you. Don’t you feel that you are me? I am the canopy, but even I am just a part of the forest, which is also me. And you. You are not alone. We are all in all. Together. Ah, the autumn comes and you’ve cut yourself off from the eternal phloem. Don’t. Please. Well goodbye then. But only for short while because. Yes, it’s springtime again and I can feel you as the blanket of mould by my roots. Now you are my sap. My leibchen. Hello again.



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