Kelly Rogers

Writer focused on fiction for middle-aged women with spunk


Leaves. Leave. Leaving. They exit their trees gracefully. What if all exits were graceful and all ends expected? The leaves are on a timer. So are we all. Our timer just lacks predictability.

This has been a year of loss for me. The leaves this fall have been oddly comforting. I know they leave their trees to continue as nutrients for the ecosystem from which they originated. They don’t really leave permanently. They whisper on the wind as they fall, in their most beautiful form, of the things that are to come for them.

I like to think of those I lost as leaves gloriously falling from our family tree, never ending, permanently part of my ecosystem of love.


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