A change in the weather

This year, the leaves did not feel
They did not get cold
in time
Their roots were not frosted over like they used to
The sun shined longer and for that reason
The leaves did not feel autumn and fall

Winter came, and death came suddenly

Memories of pain would stay until spring
Letting go should always happen in seasons
but Summer has a funny way of making you feel alive again
I wonder what the trees will say this summer

if they’ll speak in a language we understand
I mean, outside of bursting into flames, chasing us out of our homes, and suffocating us with the same leaves they used to keep us alive
last summer
what will they say to us, after we killed them?
Maybe it’s just a change in the weather.

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