Preparing the garden for Winter crops, and I picked up a leaf fallen from the Brussels Sprouts stalk – yellow, soft, limp, dying.
To create more space for the sprouting greens, I tossed it upon the compost heap, where it will disintegrate and put back into the earth more nutrient components.
Some dying leaves I left, to be spaded into the soil or just to lie there, protecting the ground before Mid-Winter.
Later, dozing on my bed in the pale yet potent sunlight from the North, I turned to feel my body as it died.
Skin flaking, bones hardening and crumbling, organs slowly liquefying as the flesh rotted.
Hair become leggy stalks of weed, tooth and nail no longer the defenders, falling away.
Each cell and platelet dissolving, becoming nutrient broth for generations yet to come.
And still no fear. Death the continuation of the circle, the sighing, collapsing end of one structure and the replenishment of the Whole.
The only tremor in seeing how we often get there: torn into pieces by our fellow apes guiding hurtling metal missiles on the roads of tar and stone.
Humanity become chaotic insanity, prisoners in the lunatic asylum, hostages to our own worst nature given reign.
I close my eyes against the Sun, and become Leaf once more.