Leaf

As a blossom, you wince at the Sun as the Wind tugs at you against the branch. You’re the innocent being just beginning to sprout, as soon as you outstretch those arms your true life’s work begins.

The Wind blows at you softly as droplets of rain dot your surface. It’s Mother Nature’s way of saying hello. Your green color, a bright neon, a signal of new life.

The days get longer, the heat rises, and the rain halts. Soon an old man comes out of his nest and sets a plastic creation on the grass and creates the rain that has stopped falling. The Tree, its roots like a sponge, indulge in the water.

He pays special attention to the Maple Tree I dangle from. He applies fresh soil around us and addresses us as Lucille. He talks out loud to the Tree as if the Maple was his mate. His voice quivers with every breath as if the thought of Lucille troubles him.

The Wind blows a little harder.

The old man, his hands clench a bottle of sorts. His once soothing words escalated into words of frustration and anger. “Lucille!” he cries out, “Why did you desert me?” He takes a hard swig at the bottle and slams it against the Maple. His behavior contaminates the water that trickles through the soil and creeps inside the Maple’s roots. The Tree’s chaos, my task to sugar coat the situation.

A codependent relationship.

The Tree gargles in a poison no one involved is immune of. A nourishment of slander; my veins choke on the bitter substance. My coloring, a reflection of anger and pain. The Wind, my once warm friend, heaves a cold warning.

Soon the disease begins to decay me. An alien impersonation takes hold. The water stops flowing, the old man’s bones start groaning, and the Tree drowns the disturbance.

I begin to shrivel up, my once green adorned color now a disturbed café hue. My own frame mocks the old man’s and my thoughts collide. An epidemic that disintegrated me and not the Tree.

The Sun slows its luster as the Wind ruffles the branch I cling to. I drift away towards the rotten soil surrounding the Tree. The Maple, too far gone to even notice. A wave of freedom embellishes the atmosphere. A sense of forgiveness fills my corroded anatomy. I call out to the Tree.

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you have a peaceful heart.