FOR NOW
by Daniella Kaufman
WC: 177 Image: #8

Sky is blue.
Tree is green.

But when the sun’s hazy glow skims the horizon,
Sky is saturated in orange, pink, and violet.
Tree is. . . still green.

Tree looks up to Sky and envy takes root. “You’re so vibrant.”
“For now,” Sky replies. “But you are also vibrant.”
“I’m just green,” sighs Tree.
“For now,” Sky repeats.

Days grow
                  shorter,
            crisper,
      colder.

Tree’s green gradually recedes and new hues flourish!
Leaves blaze
      ruby,
            amber,
                  and gold.

Tree flutters its foliage and marvels at its colorful canopy. “I’m like your sunset!”
“For now,” Sky replies warmly, “you are.”

Days grow
                  shorter,
            colder still.
      Frost nips.

One by one, Tree’s leaves fade and fall.
Barren branches droop. “My sunset is gone.”
“For now,” Sky replies soothingly, “you are like my night.”

Days grow
      longer,
            lighter,
                  warmer.

While gazing at Sky’s sunrise, Tree suddenly notices tiny buds dotting its arms. Baby leaves soon unfold. Did their green always burst so brightly?

Tree happily fluffs the fresh growth and waves skyward.
“Tree is green again,” Sky observes.
“For now,” Tree replies.