Sometimes my branch sticks out more,
it gets lonely.
Although, I’m first to touch the sun,
I’m also first to feel the wind and rain.
People, passing by, take turns swatting at me.
Drops of water settle on my upturned leaves,
I study the many reflections.
Until the air changes,
and my bloom falls away.
My core remains unchanged,
just more bare.
I’ve traveled a bit more outward,
while trying to reach the sun.
The others are following my lead,
but, remain conservative.
I know that I will be first to feel the cold settle in deep,
and the first to gather loosely falling snowflakes.