The Dead Leaf

Who thinks about dead leaves when the spring comes? The forest just wakes up from three months of a frozen silence. It wakes up naked but never ashamed of its natural beauty, and tries to remember words it used to know before the first snow came. It faces the spring sun and covers itself with flowers as a special kind of freckles.

“Hello.” The Forest stretches its branches to the blue morning sky. “Hello,” The Shining Sun answers back. I’ve heard their dialogue while standing right in the middle of The Forest. It allowed me to walk through its heart.

“I missed you”

Wait, what? I stopped for a moment. The Forest held its branches back and became silent. The Sun hid it’s face into a curly cloud. Who’s here talking to me? I kept walking faster.

“I missed you”

“I missed you”

“I missed you”

“I missed you”

I looked around. The Forest became silent again. “Here.” I looked down at the ground. There, in the very heart of The Beautiful Forest I saw dead leaves, buried by numbness of time. “This is how much I missed you.” The Forest whispered with a dead leaf on a young branch. A stream of light pierced the leaf, and I saw 16 stories The Forest wrote there while dying missing The Sun. “This is how much I missed you”.

Who thinks about dead leaves when the spring comes? The wind blew away the dead leaf and weaved it into the carpet of other forgotten leaves. The Sun started to cry with sparkling raindrops. “Here.” I looked down at the ground. There, in the very heart of The Beautiful Forest I saw a naive green Sprout, pushing aside dead stories of the past winter. “This is how much I missed you,” smiled The Sun through tears.

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