Natural Death

Spires topped with a canopy of clouds. Glistening glass trunks. Lifeless Leafless. People rushing in through underground trains and up in the lifts. Going up but never quite reaching the top. The smell of after-rain replaced by the smell of coffee. The sound of photocopiers and flipping papers instead of the songs of birds and cicadas. The flower blooms, basks in the sunlight at the highest branch, then falls.