I don’t think anyone has been as excited to see me
as these trees have.
Every time the wind whispers to them of my presence
they wave frantically,
their many hands sway eagerly.
“Hi! Hey! Hello! Yo!”
Sometimes, a few of their hands even come down near me,
so we can have a chat.
How they blush,
in their yellows, reds, and oranges,
when I tell them about how much I will miss them when they’re gone.
They tell me not to worry,
they will come back.
They always do.
Afterall, how would they be able to blush so beautifully without that sincere flattery that comes with their repeated struggle and perseverance?
If they were always there, always well, there would be nothing worth blushing for.
They tell me to remember that,
to always wither in grace,
and to always promise to come back.