The Leaf

Sometimes I feel like a leaf on the wind. Perhaps something to do with living abroad - for what home do I have but the home I keep.

How does one keep a firm grip of that little question as it unfurls, a new journey and all that just might come with it, as a witness to it begin?

Sometimes I feel like I travel with purpose, like a change of season precipitating a purpose, the leaf that tinges the Autumn with colour.

Other times the wind whips me up, and I fly where it takes me. Seasons passed I leave the tree and float unwittingly to the ground.

Perhaps I go willingly, eager to see where the breeze carries me next. At other times I am thrown, flying at its mercy.

Do I carry it all within my grasp, is it all about my reaction, the perspective I own?

Is it mine to command each gust should be an adventure or a frightened roam?