In the stillness of a windless day,
trees stand full, and proud, and straight.
But you see in the windlessness
the inevitability of your life’s last day
when your breath will be the final small gust
of air to stir the leaves
that shade your face from the indifferent sun,
the day when you realize you haven’t lived
the life you thought you would hack to pieces
and burn like so much firewood.