roots and leaves

Beneath the surface, the roots spread,
quiet tendrils that drink the deep.
They hold the earth together,
grasping stones, whispering to the soil.
In their silence, they remember
the weight of time.

Above, the leaves tremble,
catching the first light of dawn,
dancing with every breath of wind,
alive in the moment,
shedding shadows as they rise.

But the roots and leaves are bound,
woven by what cannot be seen.
The leaves reach for the sky,
their joy brief, their fall inevitable,
while the roots wait,
anchoring the earth,
holding fast through the cold.

When the leaves return to dust,
it is the roots that endure,
their quiet patience
bringing new life,
year after year,
season after season.

There is no beginning or end,
only the unseen connection,
the pulse that runs
from root to leaf
and back again.