An early Easter-Sunday-Mornings soft breath
ruffles the mirrored-surface of Lake Junaluska.
On the shoreline,
weeping willow branches shimmer in the breeze.
A solitary leaf falls to the water,
floats there, alone,
precisely where Providence placed it.
From there to surf the slow current
down to its resting place
on the bottom of the lake.
Its gradual turning to tannin
fulfilling whatever fate a willow leaf can claim.
The browning water flowing
to a far away sea.