The Noble Twig

The colors of early spring flow to the edge of the river,
falling into a clear cold rush on its way to a distant ocean. 
A symphony of light and shadow plays silently at my feet
as the ground stirs with the promise of new life. 

Near the center of the river, against great force, stands
a defiant lone twig, bare and shivering at its misfortune.
Windswept leaves floating on the water catch at its base, 
forming an ever-growing island of fragile impermanence. 

I watch the twig’s struggle, infusing it with noble purpose
and think myself not so different from this twig; my friends, 
my loves, my possessions, all leaves gathered to me - to us.
We lean upon each other and hold tightly against the flow.

A second twig came into view, carried along by the current. 
It twirled and danced past me, joining briefly with one leaf
then, spinning freely, released it and connected with another. 
I wondered, as it floated away, which twig was I meant to be?