A browned leaf hung on carelessly. Was tired of this drying tree.
No rain had fallen for quite some time and right below the branches, there was a stream.
So the leaf made a leap of faith, and fell away in a breeze. It moved back and forth through the wind, until it splatted by the river’s side.
It could feel the stream so near, and that water that carved through the valleys was like the outline of a skeleton system. The veins for now, but perhaps, someday, bare.
The leaf grew scared, it left all of its fellow brown and new green leaves behind. Only to fall a few feet away from the stream.
A day or two pass, it’s drying out. Much quicker than before. And then a gust of wind comes by and moves it a little more.
Now it’s stuck between a branch and rock, but just below, the stream. Then a stick falls off the tree and releases the tension and the leaf falls in to take a swim and no longer feels crunchy anymore.
The leaf wanted to go out this way, even if it meant leaving the other leaves behind. That leaf was made for the river. Just as the trees are made to weather a storm.
Journalistic Writing
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