Something Solid

I wanted it to look like it was falling.

Like it had tumbled from the low-hanging branch of a majestic forest king.

A tree that was perhaps the last of its kind.

And I had been lucky enough to stand under that tree at that moment to catch the last remnants of what would soon be forgotten.

It's solid through and through. Each little leaf point cut by hand.

A solid piece of creek jasper sporting all the colors of the northern hemisphere in October.

Polished and rubbed by hand with little creek jasper dangles
that move like autumn leaves floating from autumn trees.

No, it's not silver, it's copper.
But I'd make it copper again even if I had the choice.
Besides, I'm not accustomed to accepting another's definition of "precious". 

Something solid.