The Little Leaf

The little leaf hung from the tree as a cold north wind tickled it to go. But the leaf would not go. Despite the ground being a carpet of claret and copper, all the leaf’s brethren already flown the coup, it just couldn’t say goodbye.
Fear can be a terrible thing especially when disguised as confusion. Fortunately, the sycamore had seen it all. So with the tender care of a mother rocking the crib, she shook her baby free; the fall was gentle, the landing as sprinkled gossamer.
The little leaf was glad of the company of friends but missed its view, or it did until the wind whipped up and whisked all the fallen leaves to heaven. That was the most beautiful sight it’d ever seen. The little leaf wasn’t scared at all.

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