Once Upon an Autumn Leaf

Toreshi-san

A leaf broke free from the tree, all gold, yet with a tinge of red, reflecting the sunset in which it fell. It was not unwatched as it fluttered to the ground. Its path was interrupted; a steady hand did snatch it, and brought it to the green eye, scrutinizing it. Brilliant green contrasted the gold texture of the leaf. But there were no blemishes, and the leaf was near flawless. The girl looked at it sadly, thinking how simple, how sweet it might have been to be but a leaf. She was sitting beneath the tree to which the leaf was once bound, a green leather-bound book open in lap, pen in hand. Shaking her head of wild, coppery hair, she cleared her head of childish daydreams, in which she was with people who loved her. From the pen in her hand, onto the lifeless pages of the book, came the words,

‘Sad to see changes,

Things fade, gold and red,

People leave, people come,

Persons born, persons dead.

Alone am I, with book in hand,

Yet no one comes to take book’s stead.’

The last words were finished with a flourish. She placed the leaf in the pages of the book, as a marker. She had no one to love, for her all family was dead; she lived with people she held no love for, and who loved not her. As things had changed in the past, it had left her with naught. The sun was nearly invisible, and it was then that she realised that it was late. She hurriedly picked up her pen and her basket of parcels, which she had yet to deliver, and quickly dashed off in a flurry of skirts. The parcels would be late no matter how quickly she moved, but there was no sense in being later than necessary. In her haste the little green book in which she wrote poetry was dropped back to the ground where she had sat. Leaves fell a-top it, and left little of the book to be seen. It grew dim there, in the park, and the book remained unseen by passers-by.

A young boy emerged from the shadows returning from school. Tired from his long walk, for he lived quite far from school. Seeing the place beneath the tree, he was quite glad for he often sat there for a rest whilst on his way home. But this time when he sat, he found there was an object that made his sitting uncomfortable. The boy pulled the book from beneath him, and opened it to the page marked by the leaf. He brushed his dusty blonde hair out of his eyes so he could read; and the words he read there marked the writer as a kindred spirit, another human who endured life as he did, for he too had no one to love, the changes in his life had been all for the worse. Tears stung his hazel eyes, so moved was he. He took a pen from his satchel and in the little light there was he wrote a response to the poem he had just read.

‘Our lives are weathered,

Our lives are old,

Yet stay stead-fast we must,

Must be strong and bold.

All alone in fading light,

A boy did sit upon this book,

Words marked a kindred spirit,

He knew when he did look.’

Pleased with these verses, he too took a freshly fallen leaf and marked the page he had written on, and he closed the book. He hoped the owner would find it, so he left it where he found it and went on his way, feeling warmer though the evening was cool. He had found a soul in the world that shared his hardships, and he felt not so alone anymore.

The next morning the girl had been alarmed to discover that her book was misplaced. She rushed out to find it, and did. It was there in the park, beneath the golden tree, with many leaves scattered across it. When she picked it up she was glad that no one else had found her little book, full of her pains, poems and snippets of her lost childhood. But then she saw, where there was once only one leaf, now there were two. Her vision blurred when she opened the book to the second leaf, as she felt someone else out in her world endured the same as she. She wept for herself and the other soul that had no one to love, and, like her, had his childhood taken from him. It was a revelation to her, and she felt as if she had found a new friend, upon reading the new verses in the book.

That evening the boy was early. He sat in the same spot, and he saw pinned to the tree a note. “Thankyou,” it said, and though he was not sure what to make of it, his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, his burden was shared with another, and that other person was glad of it, for their burden too was lighter. His dusty blonde hair was given life, reflecting the fading light of the sunset like the leaves in the book had, also reflecting the happier emotions within the boy. As he went on his way, he whistled a happy tune that he had not thought of since he left his childhood behind, one distant autumn ago.