The Tree Decides/What the poet says.....

Thirty three hundred leaves assist the clouds in this seemingly endless game of obscuring the sun. And although it is only mid-September, I witness the trees giving the occasional "push" making a leaf fall, leaving its post as it follows the wind to the ground. I laugh, knowing that the leaves do not "leave" and "fall" willingly. The tree decides. The leave is pushed: it falls. Is the leave aware that this may one day happen? Does it make any preparation? One by one they fall to the ground allowing the sun to warm what it will of the day.
It doesn't help. It's only one leave. Then two. A third, and then a forth.
Seemingly endless.
Occasionally there is a break in the clouds, a part in the branches causing me to feel the warmth on my skin and a lift in my spirit. Colors look bright and shadows give the world a pleasant contrast. I can hear the acorns fall from the trees as I watch the squirrel dart back and forth gathering the harvest.A chain saw in the distance echoes the squirrel's mission and I'm reminded that August cannot remain forever. 
And that is okay. 
I think of how my perspective, my posture, my breath; my "natural man" is effected by sunlight.
I think of how my perspective, my posture, my breath, the "natural man" is affected by love.
When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten.
The sun is never all that far away. Even if it is obscured by clouds and trees, and leaves....
And neither is Love.
At least that is what the poets say.
And....I have to believe it.
I do.