Deciduous Circles

Before starting on a clean slate, its messy process is a beautiful life not often told. While we evolve as a person, our consciousness condenses agency, fear, curiosity, and past mistakes into a chaos of actions. So sometimes we must repeat the same failures until we move on. Sometimes the path to a new beginning isn’t linear and immediate. We may not need a goal or a sense of certainty to start anew, and our surrounding fears might never fully explain themselves—and that’s the sublime part of reaching a new beginning.

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I think I am

not a tree,

but a forest!

Because they tell me, I must say;

to dream

to sigh

to listen

to cry

As one. 

I think I do.

Yes, if I try. 

If I cut down all the withered branches of my tree.

Then rebuild

them good and strong

till they can bend but not

snap.

Snap!

Not again, I’d say.

I had hope they would be sturdy enough this time.

When will I change?

The branches don’t stop;

they fall

again

and again.

Then;

to be sure, I’d burn them to ash.

To stop the piling.

Too many branches!

What else could I do?

I think I left

my tree. 

Hey!

You!

Don’t burn it down!

Only I

can set my tree ablaze.

Oh.

Don’t I feel empty!

I think.

Well there’s a wood behind.

I should go and see.

I can see far away.

There is a bit of a haze though.

It’s cold.

There are too many leaves.

They block the path!

It seems scary.

It’s too dark.

I should wait till tomorrow.

I think I am afraid

Of adventuring in.

Oh, but I cannot ever go back!

To turn my head around and see

pitiful remains of my tree.

How I wish for those shrivelled branches!

I cannot believe my new love for these things I used to detest.

I am trying!

My feet do hurt from the blistering cold,

and yes;

the more I walk through

The quieter it gets.

Not a single sound around me

At all!

But I can only

go forward.

There is something—

a monster? 

I am not sure.

But it is behind me

biding its time.

I must walk quicker!

I think I am

getting braver.

There is more I can see.

Oh yes—

that thing is still there.

I try not to look back though.

But harsh winds are now

a pleasant breeze.

It has been a

long, long time.

I don’t remember when dead leaves

turned into pretty flowers.

Or,

Dry branches

to lush grass.

Murky fog

now evergreen canopies.

But I shall keep on going!

I think I’ve arrived

back at my old tree.

Not a tree anymore,

But a stump.

I am not scared, though.

I can no longer burn.

I can no longer bend.

But!

I can venture on.

Run away

from the monster.

But always;

always,

Looking ahead.

Is it time

to explore another forest?