The coal-dust looked almost golden in the light of the grease-lamps.
Miners chipped and dug away at various floors throughout the depth of the dark giant well under the earth.
At the bottom of the well, near the centre of the earth, where the mine was at its hottest and darkest, some miners spotted a leaf floating towards them.
They all looked up, wanting to see
the sky and the tree.
- There was a poem posted on various Toronto subway cars, about a falling leaf and a sense of hope. I'd liked it tremendously, but couldn't remember the details nor, sadly, the poet's name. The above is an attempt to capture the feeling of that poem. Will update this post as soon as I can track down that poem's co-ordinates.
Update: The name of the original poem is Branch Line by Gary Michael Dault. Please look it up, it's a far better, simpler thought.