THE WIND AND THE LEAF

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 628, 3 April 1929, Page 6

THE WIND AND THE LEAF

ONE little leaf clung to the tree when all its brothers had vanished. The mild fingers of Autumn had tinted it a rich golden-yellow. “Let me stay here,” it begged of the wind. “There is still warmth in the sun and I am afraid of the darkness.” The wind paused to study its delicately-patterned surface. “I would let you stay gladly,” it murmured, “but I, too, have my work to do in the world.” “All the morning,” said the leaf, “I have heard the harsh voice of the rake that is gathering up my brothers. Must annihilation also be mine?” “Come with me,” said the wind. “I will show you the heart of the sunset and you shall journey with me as long as I have strength to bear you.” Like a glint of gold the little leaf was borne aloft. The sky came down and the earth became a blur in the distance. “Hold me, hold me,” it whispered. “I am a golden boat sailing the seas of heaven.” “Alas,” said the wind, “I can carry you no longer.” Down, down, down, twisting and twirling came the leaf. The earth rushed up to meet it. Suddenly it fell with a final flutter into the lap of a pinafored child. “What a beautiful leaf,” said the child. “God must have sent it.” And she took it home and put it in a box with a glass lid, where the harsh voice of the rake could no longer reach it. —REDFEATHER.