Little Angels

Gold leaf takes flight.

It flutters through the forest, 

It mirrors the sun until the sun is bashful 

It challenges the trees to flex to their roots
It is soft in it’s presence, but hard in it’s love,

As leaf upon leaf embrace and crash to the ground.
Some do not have the strength to go on, exhausted in their glorious existence.

Millions upon millions,

Upon millions.

Leaves of gold, grains of sand.

The trees bow in reverence,

Their golden branches enclose the cathedral of the forest.
The locals say that after la dia de los muertos,

El regreso de las almas de los muertos

y los pequenos angeles.

      
It is hard to put into words.

I wanted to be alone in the forest,

With the butterflies.

To breathe.

To see.

To feel.
The souls of my ancestors return.
Little angels.