The Art of Surviving

The leaf hangs on,
one of the last
still on the trees as you walk the quarry,

still bright,
full of fire and life
in it’s last days,

a survivor
of storms and seasons,
it knows

that surviving is more than lasting,
it is carrying your color with you
all the way to the end.

It is an art,
half toughness, half creativity,
and always, full of magic.

About this poem

I woke up feeling old this morning. Tired. Depressed. Then my anger kicked in. “I will not give in to a dead life.” I said. “I will not.”.  I got up. I played Dire Straits as I fixed breakfast. I danced as I cooked bacon. And sat down and wrote this poem, in a much better place.

Off to work for a living.

Tom

PS – the picture was taken in the quarry across the street, on Sunday afternoon.