My life goes in cycles like tree’s leaves. Short days and cold nights make brittle branches. What’s the worst about breaking is spraying shrapnel. Shooting splinters and seeing who falls victim to my fallout. Hopefully, this rain brings changes. It’s my turn now to share some shade. I’ll be needing greenery. For the summer sun beats down, and the heat dries my leaves. I still still stand tall as they fall. Chilled to the bone by a north wind. The weather is changing, and so begins my cycle again.