The spongy mesophyll is obvious now,

Even in the out of focus areas,

Blurred by the present,

Needing air,

Water and

Sunlight.

In readiness for new growth.

Visible on the path,

The tree stub of my presence remains,

Like a mile marker on a journey,

When once they sheltered under my branches,

And now they walk by,

Wondering why this vestige has not been removed.

Not knowing what sort of tree grew here.

Taking some alone time,

Grains falling through my mind,

Each one considered,

Collecting in a lifepile which supports me.

All of the same color, yet different.