Ghost Leaves

Letting go is an option, not a necessity

My Tulip Poplar: Mostly dead “tulips” but if you look closely, some leaves remain.

This is my one-year anniversary on Substack. Joining is directly attributable to

Beth Kempton

and her amazing 2024 Winter Writing Sanctuary - thank you, for this gentle nudge to write again, Beth!

For my first post of 2025, I have written a piece that seems sad, but it’s not.

I like to look at trees and find those stubborn little leaves in winter that wouldn’t fall to the ground like all their buddies did last fall. These stubborn ‘ghosts’ are no doubt dead and yet they wave at me so cheerfully that I feel some spirit within the tree is speaking; some part that says,

Nope, I don’t have to let go of everything, I don’t have to conform to the incessant demands of winter, fall and spring. When it is time to sprout some green I might, but until then I’ll hold fast to memories of summers past…

You see, it is not about sadness at all - it is about being stubbornly different and weirdly wonderful. I love trees.

May your New Year 2025 be uniquely beautiful, filled with mystery and wonder and may you always hold fast to what you love.

Even on the coldest day
When Solstice is past 
And all that's left
Are bleak and dreary hours 
That slowly pass
Until a Brigid cross appears...

Even on a blustery day
Hope and dread entwine as
Those left behind shiver in the wind.
I'm still here...
Where did you go...
Why did you abandon me?

Even on a lonely day
A certain tree holds fast to leaves 
That wave and wonder
Fluttering like dying moths clinging
To ancient rhythms that won't let go
Paper thin but holding on.

Trees, water and ducks (sometimes geese) make me smile.