When leaves fall, what does their creator feel?
By Himmut Chatha
March 28, 2021
The mother desires to keep her children for longer, but the chains that keep her to the floor scream at her to stay planted in solitude. She whispers a story of winter to her offspring. Each child gets filled with dreams and visions of dancing snowflakes and sugar plum fairies. Visions that they will never see materialized.
The mother is left with no one to recite the tale to. She is left telling her tale to the wind that took all she had. The same wind that will carry her sorrowful words throughout the barren winter wasteland.
She finishes her novel as the sun begins to shine once more. The sun can rejuvenate life a once more. The mother lights up with joy as young sprouts start to grow on her again. They reach out towards the warmth, and they soak in the rays of viability. Their heads are filled with dreams and visions of colorful blossoms and the downpour of calming rain. The mother is healing along with her children. The soothing words transform the offspring into green and bright beings full of curiosity and wonder. Swiping through the pages, the children enjoy a newly opened story that seems that it was made just for them. The leaves take in all that is being read by the grand tree. They take in the story of spring.
Inspiration
Spolier Alert: It's a bit silly
My family prefers spring over fall, and we even fell out because of this topic during Thanksgiving. Now that fall is over and spring is beginning, I realized that it would be a perfect apology to create a poem about the transition. I loved how this poem turned out, but if you like more somber things, read further to see my first draft.
First Draft
The harsh wind rips at the poor child’s already weakened body as they clings to their mother. The will to hold on any longer leaves their body as they fly away from their beloved family. Their vision is blinded by the ravenous crystalline clumps that push it harshly to the ground to be with his family that lay eternally asleep.
The mother desires to keep her children for longer, but the chains that keep her to the floor scream at her to stay planted in solitude. To keep her children’s eyes off of their sad fate she whispers a story of winter into their ears. Each child gets filled with dreams and visions of dancing snowflakes and sugar plum fairies. Visions that they will never see materialized.
The mother is left with no one to recite the tale as the rotten corpses of her wilting children shrivel up at her roots. She is left telling her tale to the same wind that whisked away her beloveds. The same wind that will carry her sorrowful words throughout the barren winter wasteland.
She finishes her novel as the sun begins to shine once more. The sun has provided for years, and on this joyous occasion it can rejuvenate life as it used to. The mother lights up with joy as young sprouts start to grow on her again. They reach out towards the warmth, and they soak in the rays of viability. The old woman picks a book out of her library, and begins to read to the children. Their heads are filled with dreams and visions of colorful blossoms and the downpour of calming rain. The leaves take in all that is being read by the grand tree. They take in the story of spring.
-Himmut Chatha
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