In a Tree Near the Old Fence

This morning, making my coffee, my eye, through the kitchen window, was captured by a spark of light resting on a leaf hanging on tree that had lost itself to shadow.

In a Tree Near the Old Fence

I am grateful
for the green leaf
that catches and clings

to the light,
once spilling
through the branches

as a stream spills over stone,
when all others
abandon this heat,

sinking deeper
into the shadows
of an aging day.

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