Autobiography Of A Leaf
December 16th 2006 14:35
Winter
I am one with my source. It is a very nice place that spreads out in many directions. Mostly, though, toward the white fluffs up above. I am barely a node and identify fully with my host.
Maybe that is why I don’t understand why some of the moving creatures below angle themselves and spray wetness on me. What’s that about? Other creatures stare and smile, and write things down on paper.
I am told that they have names for me, my host, and others like us. I am also told that I may myself grow up only to become a piece of paper.
Spring
I am smiling! I am alive! I am coming into my own. It is clear now that I will not be a notebook when I grow up.
Phew.
As I continue to cling to my host, I am becoming very different. I am green and I bask in the sun. I blow in the wind. This feels great, though I do not understand why some of my peers move on so soon. Why would they drop down into the wind? Most of us live our thriving and emergent lives simply being.
Simply being alive.
Little flying creatures are interesting. They stop by and seem happy. Little, teeny ones with very fast moving wings sometimes poke me, as if looking to see if I have something they want. I don’t, and I don’t think they mean any harm.
Summer
Life is fine. I have learned how to be and am much more relaxed in my own identity. I am still connected to my host, but my life is different. I don’t need nearly as much from my host anymore.
I am losing my green and vibrant luster. No longer the young whipper-snapper. I am still able to celebrate all things of and around me, though in a more subdued and sedate way.
I ride my wave of life with a sense of peace and serenity. When more and more of my peers drop from our host, I think that I too will eventually join them down there.
I wonder what that will be like.
Autumn
I am dying.
I am losing the greenness that has been the best part of my life. I am losing the greenness that most symbolized my life. Creatures below look on as if my new coloring is the most wonderful thing. I wonder if they change colors when they are dying. And if it also is beautiful.
I keep my eye on the mounds of my fallen colleagues below. Sometimes little creatures—very alive creatures, I might add—run and leap into the soft piles. It seems fun.
I know that I will go soon. I know that I will leave my host and……
deorre
I am one with my source. It is a very nice place that spreads out in many directions. Mostly, though, toward the white fluffs up above. I am barely a node and identify fully with my host.
Maybe that is why I don’t understand why some of the moving creatures below angle themselves and spray wetness on me. What’s that about? Other creatures stare and smile, and write things down on paper.
I am told that they have names for me, my host, and others like us. I am also told that I may myself grow up only to become a piece of paper.
Spring
I am smiling! I am alive! I am coming into my own. It is clear now that I will not be a notebook when I grow up.
Phew.
As I continue to cling to my host, I am becoming very different. I am green and I bask in the sun. I blow in the wind. This feels great, though I do not understand why some of my peers move on so soon. Why would they drop down into the wind? Most of us live our thriving and emergent lives simply being.
Simply being alive.
Little flying creatures are interesting. They stop by and seem happy. Little, teeny ones with very fast moving wings sometimes poke me, as if looking to see if I have something they want. I don’t, and I don’t think they mean any harm.
Summer
Life is fine. I have learned how to be and am much more relaxed in my own identity. I am still connected to my host, but my life is different. I don’t need nearly as much from my host anymore.
I am losing my green and vibrant luster. No longer the young whipper-snapper. I am still able to celebrate all things of and around me, though in a more subdued and sedate way.
I ride my wave of life with a sense of peace and serenity. When more and more of my peers drop from our host, I think that I too will eventually join them down there.
I wonder what that will be like.
Autumn
I am dying.
I am losing the greenness that has been the best part of my life. I am losing the greenness that most symbolized my life. Creatures below look on as if my new coloring is the most wonderful thing. I wonder if they change colors when they are dying. And if it also is beautiful.
I keep my eye on the mounds of my fallen colleagues below. Sometimes little creatures—very alive creatures, I might add—run and leap into the soft piles. It seems fun.
I know that I will go soon. I know that I will leave my host and……
deorre
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