They’re green; as green as can be, with their veins running through the centre, then spreading out, becoming thinner and paler as they get closer to the edge. There’s thousands of them, clustered around; at the top; at the bottom; to the left; to the right. They’re everywhere. Some are falling, some are orange, some are green, some are tiny.
My leaf is round, like me, but thick and stable, with the main vein running strong, from the tip of leaf all the way to the stem, where it then meets the branch which curls down the trunk of the tree. The leaf is in the middle, surrounded by my sister and brother’s leaves which are similar to mine, except my sister’s is slightly thinner. They’re stability supports me, as mine does theirs.
Our mother and father’s leaves are above ours, still in sight, but out of reach, yet still loving and cherishing us all. They’re orange and coiling now, withering away as time claims them. Above them is their parent’s. Only 2 remain now; both of the mothers. Our father’s father’s leaf fluttered past us just last week, orange and dry, barely any life remaining. Our other grandfather’s leaf fell before any of us were born. Our grandmother’s leaves are almost grey, clinging onto the branch and stem with determination, yet the veins are shrivelled and parts of the leaf have disintergrated in the harsh winter that emerged a few months ago. Neither of them look well.
I, however, have my entire life glowing out in front of me, days roasting in the hot sun, absorbing energy and happiness, the wind whispering to me in the summer breeze. Perhaps one day I will create my own family to add to this tree, with small leaves who have their lives shining ahead of them as well.
Yet when my time comes, when I will be withered and small, I will not be afraid. When I decide to let go of this tree, death just a snatch away, I will be happy enough letting the wind choose my fate, eventually touching the soft, green grass where my life would have officially ended.
Because I will have the knowledge that family tree’s never die, and my descendant’s line will continue, living on, and on, and on as leaves on a family tree.
My leaf is round, like me, but thick and stable, with the main vein running strong, from the tip of leaf all the way to the stem, where it then meets the branch which curls down the trunk of the tree. The leaf is in the middle, surrounded by my sister and brother’s leaves which are similar to mine, except my sister’s is slightly thinner. They’re stability supports me, as mine does theirs.
Our mother and father’s leaves are above ours, still in sight, but out of reach, yet still loving and cherishing us all. They’re orange and coiling now, withering away as time claims them. Above them is their parent’s. Only 2 remain now; both of the mothers. Our father’s father’s leaf fluttered past us just last week, orange and dry, barely any life remaining. Our other grandfather’s leaf fell before any of us were born. Our grandmother’s leaves are almost grey, clinging onto the branch and stem with determination, yet the veins are shrivelled and parts of the leaf have disintergrated in the harsh winter that emerged a few months ago. Neither of them look well.
I, however, have my entire life glowing out in front of me, days roasting in the hot sun, absorbing energy and happiness, the wind whispering to me in the summer breeze. Perhaps one day I will create my own family to add to this tree, with small leaves who have their lives shining ahead of them as well.
Yet when my time comes, when I will be withered and small, I will not be afraid. When I decide to let go of this tree, death just a snatch away, I will be happy enough letting the wind choose my fate, eventually touching the soft, green grass where my life would have officially ended.
Because I will have the knowledge that family tree’s never die, and my descendant’s line will continue, living on, and on, and on as leaves on a family tree.
so_joy
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