still death

We often talk about still life in art. But there is something else

There is still death

A dry brown leaf sits on my porch remembering green life

Veins run through what was once a vibrant part of a collective

They carried life blood now drained and dry, brittle and broken

This leaf is not still life. It is still death

Death unmoved by time, stopped at the moment the camera flashed

wpid-DSC0061-2014-10-21-15-08.jpg

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