Orange

“When did your leaves turn orange?” I ask my neighbor.

I've turned my face so long to the sky, I haven’t noticed the forest. I know the stars. I know the moon. I know the way the sun shines down all summer through the heat and the cool. 

But I didn't notice my brother.

I know the wind patterns as they press the cold air in only to lift it away again. I know the clouds. I know the atmosphere.

And then I see myself.

I too am orange. Time has passed, and I didn't know. There was snow yesterday morning. There were snowdrops in the afternoon. There was the chill of coming fall in the evening. And now I am orange.

Soon, my leaves will leave me. They will fall from my branches and leave me bare. They will leave their heights, no longer to sing in the wind, and will cover my roots to bring warmth. Those things that brought life, turned the sun into wine, will now sustain me. They will cover my roots and keep out the frost. They will give life to the soil around my base. They will allow the rabbits and foxes to live in a warm home. They will protect us.