Detritus

Castoffs,
no longer wanted, 
abandoned, discarded,
littering the forest floor. 
One can step on them without
even noticing,
without valuing, or honoring,
or savoring
their former lives.
Bits of shell and seeds, an acorn cap, 
dried leaves and withering berries,
a hodgepodge of evidence
that life and purpose thrived here,
a season ago.

Now, 
amid what was scattered,
a promise of 
nothing wasted. 
The makings of a whole new woodland
lie dormant,
resting, waiting 
to sprout and grow.
New from the old,
refashioned from the 
detritus of what was, 
once upon a time.