What do I see?
At first, I'm seeing the dead brown,
Brown so brittle and dry and lost,
As of this moment.
Bent, misshapen, so seemingly useless,
For anything but fire, at this instant..
Acres of brown, covered with a coating of white,
When the snow kisses and goes away,
Chased by a confused sun!
A sun there, but still not there,
Surrendering to the day.
Or is my inevitable - the green, that will come someday,
After this endurance test?
Why do I seek the green so?
Isn't the beauty of the brown, just different?
Isn't that what the cycle of life is about?
Different, yet the same.
Dead, yet still alive.
Bent but still, holding on.