My little leaf. It drifts down a river, its only propellant that of wind and current. A loose turn here, a sharp bend there. It lazily makes its way to a destination only it and the water know. The relationship is not contentious, but one of fruitful understand. The leaf, vibrant green, begins to dull around its edges. The river finds itself a strong provider. Together they are married in nature’s harmonious infinity. Where one ends, the other begins. Where one perishes, the other shall live. Both giving and receiving nourishment. There is no discussion of where the river goes or how the leaf arrived in the midst of its grasp. They symbolically hold hands, navigating unexpected torrents and territorial animals together. They are aware that death awaits them both; one much sooner than the other. It does not concern them. Theirs is a life lived. A record as clear as the mountain stream on which is it whisked. A guitar as fragile and lifted as the leaf on which it strums. Let us not be concerned with the beginning or the end. What we have is now. An elegant life, the music of our surroundings, and the wherewithal to let it envelope us.