In other days

In other days, it was a softer fall.
Rustling, slipping, drifting
From branch to earth.
It was a peaceful fall,
A gentle death.
Comforted by the soil
Which had nourished them
Through roots and branches.

But now?
Do they know?
Do they see what some will meet?
The hard-formed ground that was not made for them.
The grey. The black. The white.
The dirt which cannot nourish
Or cradle them as they fade.
Do they feel what this day brings?
Do they long for other days?