The silence after the last leaf falls

I stood under the oak today—just a skeleton now, stripped bare by oak wilt. I remember when its crown used to hum with sparrows at dawn. Now it’s just wood and memory. Funny how the air feels heavier when something stops breathing. I brought my old harness down from the shed, still smelling of pine sap and sweat. Wore it for ten minutes in the yard, just to feel the weight again. The world moves on, but some things don’t forgive you for letting go.