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The tree quavers in the gale

beneath angry green-black clouds

Measuring each gust with leaves and
tiny bony fingers
grappling at the ends of each fearful branch.
Limbs panic at the winds cold kiss;
in violent hugs they sway and toss.

Rumors drain down the trunk
to gather amongst the roots.
Today will be the falling-day;
the one last trial and then gravity

will crash it’s span to earth.

Leaves laid down, not by autumn's chill,
but for the first time,
all still holding hands, 
left to wonder what comes next.