Red-gold beauties; a tree on fire.
God speaks as though to Moses: "See me, I am."
I stand in dumb silence;
Tears watering my cheeks I kick off my clogs,
For here is sacred ground.
"I will change you like this tree"
He whispers in my soul's ear.
"For as there is a season to grow,
So there is one to prune,
And reap, and harvest, and lie fallow."
"Now is the season to grow,"
Said the Spirit-Voice inside my head.
"Yet the old leaf must fall to make room for the new.
And some of your leaves, while beauties,
Do not have eternal value."
I cast doubting eyes to the ground;
Resting on a leaf of beauty,
Perfect in size and colour, yet left to rot.
"You would prefer it rot on the branch?" asks the Voice.
"No," I reply. "Make way for the new leaf."