fall into winter

a few leaves hold on, but their brethren have lost their grip and have fallen to earth, honey colored still, golden still but faded and their fate is unknown except before them other have disappeared from on high to the ground, to earth to mother earth and what remains is the structure of the trees, their twists and turns, their circles and their aspirations to heights that will never be reached or if attained will be but a moment, a gasp in time. but if man leaves the trees alone, then more will follow if guided by the hand of agriculture, the art of sustenance and of growth