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.