Her Leaf, Her ways of the World
One, complete-in-itself, nature's fabric on another, amidst the lap of Nakuchia taal, amidst maggie packs and chai wallas, amidst mockery of crowd and spider-threaded abandoned wooden boats..amidst water-laden skies..fractalled, mandalrot-setted, nature symmetry-superimposed, perfect in camouflage of Autumn seasons, perfect in colors hued and hissed and spewed and fed and transitioned, perfect in slow amalgamation of red into orange, perfect as Christmas trees are, perfect as all decaying sentient beings are, in their loneliness, in their graves, perfect as a sunshine on rocks in a roaring dark cloudy day in hills, when a ray of sun-burst is hope, perfect in its brevity and fragility and early disintegration, and amidst the despair of quiet passage, perfect in its confidence that more will come, that Earth and sun and her tree mother will laden earth with thousands of her clones, that insects will roll in, that birds will gather as nests, that her own frail body will disintegrate but launch a thousand new entities.. in free give and take that nature perfected, so quiet and graceful in her solitudinal rhythm.
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