In Fall, leaves are so brilliant with the colors of gold and red. We can cup them in our hands, look at them and feel amazed at their beauty. But only one or two leaves are just left on the tree trunk. Becoming the last leaves.
Eventually they become brown, crumbling, scattered by the wind, gone and forgotten forever.
But the tree still remains. The tree itself is what is important. Still lives on, without any leaves.
It is a difficult knowledge to bear and an even more difficult life to live. But no other options because life must go on. It is difficult, but it doesn’t mean can not be done.
I seek truth and beauty in the transparency of an autumn leaf,
in the perfect form of a seashell on the beach,
in the curve of a woman’s back,
in the texture of an ancient tree trunk,
but also in the elusive forms of reality