They sway to and fro
dancing in the breath of the wind,
yet they cling
held fast to the hidden strength beneath.

Their beauty is borrowed,
their colour drawn
from deep unseen places
where roots drink living streams.

Without the tree
they wither,
cut off from the pulse of life,
no nourishment, no strength to remain.

Bright brilliance flutters downward,
soft against the waiting earth
but falling is not the finish.
Decay becomes promise.

What wastes away
feeds what is to come.
From surrender to soil
rises tender green again.

Some are whole and single,
others divided and intricate
each design deliberate,
each vein a testimony
that such wonder is no accident.

They gather light
and turn it into life.
They shade the weary,
shelter the fragile,
sustain the hungry soul.

Blown by shifting winds
yet anchored still
they speak of presence,
of care,
of faithful provision.

And somewhere in eternity
stands the Tree of Life,
its leaves for the healing of nations
simple,
profound.

So we, too, draw near the Root.
From Him we live.
In Him we flourish.
Even our falling
is gathered into renewal.

Leaves are the beauty of becoming
transformation made visible,
whispering softly

Stay rooted