Scattered,Are the leaves,blown by the wind,landing upon the ground,where the grass has turned brown,a gust of wind will keep them moving,Perhaps they will be gathered by someone who think they are a nuisances,and raked in a pile or two,to be carried off to God knows where.to do what fallen leaves do.and soon they will be forgotten.the trees will be replenished,and  the trees will proudly give shade and stand firm against the wind,as the grass,turn green and the flowers begin to bloom and as I listen to the birds sing,and the children,laughing,and playing,I will be reassured that there is a God,    and just as the leaves,were gathered,God will take my troubles,and put them in a pile or two,to be carried away to a place that only God knows where,and as I look,out my window toward the sky that is so blue I will thank God that it is spring my favorite time of the year.