I remember when I was a child being fascinated by the leaves. They were always changing: green pink, orange, yellow, brown. And then eventually, when the air changed and chilled, they turned into nothing. They’d fall from the branches of the trees and either crumble and become a part of the ground or blow away in the wind. They never really had any power over their movements.
They’d just go with the weather and wherever the wind would take them, helpless, weak, incapable of control.
I remember when I was young, about thirteen. It was a rainy spring day and the raindrops were splattering fiercely against the earth and the wind was howling. I was sitting at my window, watching the street flood and the leaves get carried away with the rage of the water. They were all a flourishing green, in the prime of their life, just blooming, yet the rain and wind was destroying them.
But there were these two leaves stuck to my bedroom window that wouldn’t budge. They remained in place through the windstorm and the temper of the rain, even when the water was falling so heavily I couldn’t see through the glass.
I kept staring at the leaves, unable to take my eyes off them, fascinated by their determination, even when the sky darkened and the window howled so violently it shook the glass of the window. I kept thinking about how strong they were and how they were only leaves. Pieces of a tree, a plant, these little things that couldn’t think, make choices, do anything of their free will, yet they wouldn’t give in to the wind and rain and leave that damn window.
In a strange way, I envied them; the determination, the passion, sheer will not to give in and let something else take them to the end of their life.
At the end of the storm, I fell asleep in my bed. When I woke up, the sun was out and the land was drying. The leaves that stayed attached to the tree branches were green and dewy. To my surprise the leaves were gone from the window and it made me kind of sad and I felt hopeless. The idea that they could survive against the storm was bringing me a sense of comfort.
However, when I look back at it now, I wonder where they went. Maybe they gave up and let the wind and rain take them away. Maybe they fell from the window and let the rain wash them away.
But on further perusal I am quite confident that such strong willed leaves, they must have somehow found their way back to the trees. Maybe they reconnected themselves to the branches and continued to grow and flourish even after their temporary break.
Maybe they were strong enough to take control of their lives again, revive themselves from their approaching death, and force themselves to start breathing again…
Yes, I think the leaves made it back to the trees.
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