Falling Leaves

Without change, as a routine appointment to keep, the leaves of the tree will fall without fail. Over season and times of change, the leaves will continue to cast its faded shade of death over the streets. The repellent sight which lies ahead, how tiresome can it get? The dead litter and heap of stillness, what joys can one find? As a man who strolls down these paths, kicking up the dull foliage, it can almost bring despair just by the sniff of pungent dryness. And yet there is a certain story to tell.

I read somewhere when I was young, that for every falling leave you catch in the air, you’ll get a day of good luck. So there it goes, a little boy ran around one day while autumn braced. Using a black bag he sped down the streets willing the gust to blow. Catching with not much of a finger lifted, a bag full of leaves fallen from the trees caught in air. Gathering it all up he came to the old man and sounded brightly, “I’ve much luck in my life now cos’ I’ve gathered as such.”

The old man smiled quietly and reaching into the bag he asked, “How many leaves are there in here?”

The boy answered, “I’m not sure, but as much as I need it.”

The old man prompted again, “To whom do you what to give the leaves to?”

Little boy answered a little rudely, “Have you not heard me old man, it’s for myself and for no one else!”

Gently he asked again, “Little boy little boy, do you not know the luck will not come if you gather them by greed and selfishness? We are meant to catch it one by one in the air with our hands outstretched. The luck is for others, and does not work on us.”

Curiously the boy looked on, as the old man turned the bag over to empty it. He didn’t stop the old man. Leaving the bag aside, he sprinted off like the wind that came, hands outstretched to catch some leaves. He came back with just one in each hand.

Semplice Simon