The Last Leaf

The Last Leaf will never fall.

I watched today as two leaves, the last two, fought to hang on to the tree that had brought them into the world. They flailed in the Chicago wind, gritting their teeth to put on a face for the other that strength and resolve were far from broken.

One of them would be the last to let go of the cord that had reared them, unsure of what the next step would hold, be it life or death. Would there be a whole new world to experience or would that world bring nothing more than dirt?

I looked on these two leaves that had grown up next door to each other and spent their lives together; when one eventually gives up the fight the other won’t be far behind.

If not the first to go, by God, be the last.

I wondered if the last leaf to fall thought the leaves that fell before him looked up on him and praised his strength. I wondered if he felt the call to join every single person he knew, as he stood there… alone. I wondered if he more strongly felt that he was in control of his destiny or if his destiny controlled him; would he make the decision to change or would change make the decision for him?

As the sun let the gray sky turn dark both leaves had lived another day.

From the Blanket of Leaves You Die

Image by Paul Turgeon via Flickr

But what I want to say, however, I'm not going to say it because I don't have to say it--you know it--if you can still remember it, but I'm not sure that you're still there. THERE. Seems that you're lost without a trail of breadcrumbs to get back to your Path and the forest is dark, strange sounding and ominous... what's that strange, bad feeling you have, that crawling of the skin? A hand in front of your face: his? hers? mine? yours? We all know, but you can't tell. It's the hand that holds you down. A cry emanates from the darkness, yet you can't determine the direction from which it came, yet you pray for it to happen again because it sounds familiar--too familiar. And then, the thing you least wanted to hear... a million cries at once flooding your senses until you collapse, curled into a fetal ball, begging for the Leaves to bury you. There will be no evolution for your soul from There. You have to figure out how to get HERE.

(PURGE COMPLETE -- now I can write at work).