Twiggy

Twas just a little twig, torn from the trunk a victim of the storm. When raging winds chased clouds of snow from Yukon's fields into the continent, there was no time though much resolve to stick to the old trunk, a hundred years it had, with pride stood tall shrugged off the wars, the droughts and now the Yukon ice, the twig let go as if to say tis someone else's show. And as it tumbled through the city's smog, it faced its sudden death, and with a shrug it braced itself and shut its cortex down.... She wore a gown, of such exquisite lace that he took note and followed her, in weightless flight until she landed in the shrubs. He watched, suspended in a fork of a she-oak, saw dewdrops fall and tears of joy and touches deep, and when he woke there was no sound, though he was sure that Paradise on earth, it had been found.