There is beauty in the wreckage.
Trees fall, get pruned, cut down.
Stacked in piles waiting….
for what?
There is mystery in their fallen presence. The moss curiously expands, spreading its green across the trunks, seeking ways to catch the light.
Indulge. Invade. Devour.
We are fallen trees, so many.
Cut, pruned, torn, left in piles.
Broken, yet embraced by beauty. Left for future seeds to find, to climb, to be reminded.
That trees fall.
Humans fall.
That there is beauty in the wreckage, and life continues to evolve.
Though the truth seems ugly the sunlight gleams with love, over the unsightly, over death and dark.
The shadows fill with mystery, the wind making them dance, the stories of their downfall are told to seeking eyes;
When we think ourselves invincible.
Karma comes for us.
We’re brought down to the ground.
Reminded we are one.
Though the wound is painful, and we mourn the loss.
The world remains beautiful. The earth and life grow on.
@DorotheaLucaci
