We have all we need.

Trees, shedding leaves like stars, pave

Streets in gold again.

A falling leaf: who does it belong to? The soil it becomes: can any words take it away from the earth? Every tower tumbles in time; every system crumbles. The leaf-mould presses down into mycelium, holding the living world together. The old ways remain even when cities turn to ashes and dust; the cubicles are given to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, the trackless path remains.

This blog consists of leaves blowing in the wind: a nonrandom sample curated with an eye toward the things that remain.

Image: Karl Wilhelm Diefenbach, The Innocence, or Snake Girl (c. 1897)