Near the tree’s base, last year’s brittle leaves gather where wind leaves them undisturbed. Above, one slender branch leans outward, reaching past the shadowed tangle, pausing in pale morning hush. It holds a single, unfallen leaf—thin, weathered, almost translucent—stilled not by force, but quiet persistence. In the hush beneath, moss takes hold along softened bark, slow and unspoken. There is no witness here: only the patient exchange between what resists and what remains, each presence gently allowing the other to stay.