As the Leaf Fell
Once
upon a time there stood a tree.
Where
it stood is much in question. But that
it stood is not in question at all. For it
was from this tree that the first leaf fell.
It
fell in bitter mourning, ripped from its mother branch. Its body had changed, no longer yellow-green
and fertile, with a crispness to its bearing.
And so it was that with the first breath of the wind, it was plucked
with ease—for it had already begun to die.
With
grave sorrow the leaf turned to the ground.
But the
wind sighed unexpectedly.
Up and
about it twirled, higher and higher, and it could see the sun before it rose and
the stars in all their massed splendor.
Higher
still it flew until green lands faded into blue sea and all the world looked
round.
The leaf
did not notice that its color had changed from green to orange to red and was
now brown. Nor that its edges were
brittle. For its life’s end had come
about in wonder. And when the wind ceased
its long exhale, and the leaf came at last to the ground, it met the dirt with
kindness knowing it once had lived.