A Leaf’s Life

Awakening and Growth

A soft warmth embraces me as I emerge from my small cocoon, fresh and hopeful. I stretch slowly and let out a gentle yawn. The world around me is quiet, except for the comforting murmur of morning waking up. I smile at the first golden light of day, as the sun tenderly wakes me and my fellow leaves.

With each passing moment, the light grows stronger, and I feel its gentle warmth guiding me. Along with my leafy companions, we tilt our faces toward the sun, savoring its early rays as they touch us with their golden glow. I soak in that peaceful morning energy until the sun reaches its peak and slowly begins its descent. When evening falls, we settle down to rest together under the calming embrace of dusk.

Reaching Full Potential

Day by day, I stretch and grow, unfolding toward maturity. I am steadily growing larger and stronger, turning vibrant green under the sun’s nurturing light. I sense a lively pulse in my veins, and I feel the promise of life in every tiny part of me.

Sometimes, a gentle breeze drifts through, whispering softly and tickling our surfaces in delight. That tender touch sends me into a joyful dance with my neighbors. We sway silently like everyone giggling in a carefree moment our leaves twisting and twirling in the soft air. In those fleeting seconds, we feel free, light-hearted, and alive.

The Stormy Night

One particular evening, not long after sunset, the air suddenly becomes unnaturally still. It feels heavy and foreboding. Then, without warning, a booming crash reverberates from the core of our mother tree. The ground trembles beneath us, and the forest seems to hold its breath in fear.

Moments later, droplets of rain begin to fall small at first, but growing in force. The patter turns into hammering pellets, and icy cold drops sting our surfaces. I feel the wind roar as it hurls us roughly against each other. Violent gusts shake us all, tearing at our veins and edges. That night becomes bitter, cold, and wearying a relentless, merciless assault we cannot escape.

All through the night, the storm rages. I lose track of time in the endless battering. I think of all the companions around me wondering who can survive this fierce barrage.

Dawn After Darkness

As the storm finally fades, the sun peeks over the horizon once more. Its gentle light reveals a scene of quiet devastation. Many of my companions are damaged: some torn, others bruised, and some entirely ripped away from the stems that birthed them. I remain, but I notice how many around me have fallen silent.

A swirl of sorrow and thankfulness fills my being thankful that I survived, saddened by the loss and brokenness of those I grew alongside. I wonder if storms like these will come again. I pray they won’t, but a soft, uneasy whisper deep inside tells me that perhaps they will.

Learning the Name of the Storm

In the days that follow, I begin to understand. This terrible force is called a storm. More storms come and go throughout our time under the tree. Each one brings its own danger and destruction. Storms are part of life powerful, destructive, and unavoidable. The natural world calls it just their right part of nature’s design.

But alongside the storms, something else begins to shift: the days grow shorter, and the nights become cooler. I sense the change in the air. The sun’s warmth is no longer strong enough to sustain us through long hours. Each dawn is shorter, each dusk lingers longer, and the bright energy we once absorbed seems to fade.

The Slow Fade of Green

My surviving companions begin to show signs of change. At first, it is very subtle tiny flecks of yellow along the edges. Then the center fades, turning soft orange and red. Gradually, the deep green that once defined us drains away.

We are losing our lushness changing colors as if saying goodbye to summer. Life is shifting; we know it. The cool air settles in our veins, slowing our strength. Ice crystals form at our edges in the cold morning air delicate frost tracing every vein and edge. The chill lingers long after sunrise, whispering of the transformation underway.

Energy Dwindles and Frosty Days

I feel my energy slipping. Days once full of life now feel muted and fragile. I awaken each morning hoping for warmth. But the sun rises weaker, and its smile does not last long.

I sense unease before the breeze even arrives. It no longer feels playful or gentle, it carries a chill. The movement that once made us dance now feels like a signal of endings.

The March of the Leaves

One day, I look down and notice others are letting go. They detach from our home stem and drift gently to the forest floor. They tumble and spiral in graceful arcs, blending their shades of orange, brown, and yellow in a slow, delicate fall.

I feel it too, I drift from my stem and follow their graceful flight. We swirl together as one in the breeze, encircling and gliding downward. The wind carries us gently to the ground, where we settle. This farewell movement is poetry silent, profound, and natural.

“The March of the Leaves,” the trees seem to call it. A final dance, a release, a letting go.

Reflections on Change and Renewal

Lying on the forest floor, I am no longer green or upright. I’m brown and curled. Though part of me feels grief for the end of summer, another part feels peaceful acceptance. We are part of a larger cycle, one of birth, growth, loss, and rest.

With every fallen leaf, nutrients return to the earth to feed the tree and the forest’s life. Beneath me, the soil feels rich. I remember the warmth I felt once and understand that without darkness and cold, there is no renewal.

Looking Forward to Tomorrow

And I know this: after winter comes spring again. Though storms and cold may return, new buds will awaken. In time, others like me will sprout, stretch, and dance in the sun. Perhaps one of them will tell the same story.

For now, I rest. The wind has stilled, the tree sleeps under frost, and the forest is quiet. In this rest, there is renewal. In this fall, there is purpose. My journey ends, but the cycle continues from bud to leaf, from storm to sleep, from life to letting go.