The Breeze

The sun rose, revealing a pale pink sunrise. The weathered tree stretched its limbs towards the sky, taking in the feeble hints of morning rays. The valley teemed with minuscule droplets of fog, suspended on the air, floating weightlessly as if trapped in a dream. They clung to the hope that their dark, life-giving dawn would linger, if only for a moment longer. In their desperation they diffused any weak beams of sunlight that managed to pervade them—but as the sun grew in its intensity, the tiny droplets began to feel their strength fade. They struggled to preserve their form, but in an agonizing but inevitable transformation they felt themselves metamorphosed into nothing more than the air they once floated on.

The sun's newly strengthened rays pierced the canopy of the tree. The leaves began to wake from their nightly repose as they felt the darkness melt away, murmuring and shuddering with every tiny breath of air. They unfurled themselves as they prepared for yet another lackluster day. A sudden breeze, however, caught them off guard; they trembled and twisted as they felt themselves being pulled from their home. The breeze finally passed and they drooped with relief, hoping against hope that the breeze would be the last to threaten their hold on their home, and returned to their morning habits.

But, as chance would have it, one little leaf was not like the others. He knew he was different, too—he felt he didn't belong. He had never tried to change his circumstances before, as he had always been a good, dutiful leaf. But at that moment, a strange sense of daring came over him; he suddenly longed to be free from the tedium, free from the other leaves and their strange sense of duty to the tree.   As another breeze came in the series, he finally let go of his grip and was torn away, writhing and bending as the wind carried him from his former companions.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that without the others he could not survive; he was destined to disintegrate into nothing more than a brown, crumpled shell-- doing no justice to his memory. He smothered the fear trying to scratch its way out of him as he was carried away. The terror was gradually replaced by a sense of elation as he floated above the hills, carried along by his captor. He was finally free, free from the oppression of that ordered world, hidden behind layers and layers of other leaves. For the first time, he was his own leaf.

He reveled in the feeling of release as he was swept over the other trees, blanketed with those poor, captive leaves. As the breeze passed through them, they all shuddered with their own distinctive rhythm, blending together into a whispering sigh, a testimony to the tedium. If only those pitiable, naïve leaves could feel what he felt, see what he saw--escape from the jail that was their world. He wished he could float that way forever.

After some time, however, the breeze began to lose its vigor. It struggled and strained to continue on its path as it felt its life escaping from it. In a final moment of desperation, it tried to lift once more into the sky--but all in vain. The breeze finally realized its time had come. It ceased to move, surrendering itself to nature.

A mixture of horror and regret crept over the leaf as he fluttered to the ground. Without the breeze, the inconstant force behind his impulsive escape, he had nothing more to live for; he had no chance. He realized at once how mistaken he was. Regret crashed over him like a tidal wave, washing away his former conviction and ushering in a sinking despair. He once again longed for the shelter of the tree, his guardian, his lifeblood--so quickly stripped from him by the fickle wind. He suddenly envied those he had pitied—at least they knew what their futures held.