A dried brown leaf twirls from an invisible filament a foot beneath a green and red branch, as others drift to the sun-mottled lawn below. A pine cone, the edges of its open brown petals tinged white, lands with a soft thud amidst the long russet needles that have already fallen. The last tomatoes, some still green, glow golden in the late afternoon sunlight.
The sounds of the cars, the sirens, the trains, the trembling of the earth, have no affect on these green growing things, even as they quietly shed their leaves and seeds.
There is no anger here. Only stillness, and life.