Come with me, it beckoned, giving the leaves a little push just before it disappeared, but they barely noticed it.
Maturing summer leaves danced and played together in the wind as it spoke of the doings in the world. It told of fun to be had, sights to see, and the scent of flowers rode upon its back. The leaves spun in the sunshine, and began to wonder.
Autumn wind blew coldly through the leaves, sharing secrets of the places it had been and the things it had seen. It spun tales of princesses and great adventure, and whispered of heartbreak. It laughed about the chaos it had caused overseas and in desert places. The faint smell of spices it carried on its back hinted at exotic destinations, and it beckoned to the brittle leaves which swayed under its influence, entranced by all the stories it told them. It ended with a faint whisper, Come with me, and you can see too.
The leaves rustled again, trying to escape but they could not--they were held firmly in place by the stems which connected them to the branches which lay beneath them.
Not yet, the tree told them. Not yet.
The icy wind came again and began to carry off the withering leaves, one by one. Calling out their goodbyes to the friends of their youth, they swirled away never to be seen again. Those remaining grew jealous, wishing that they too could be carried away to see the sights and hear the stories of which they always heard.
One solitary leaf was left. The cold wind blew, and it lost its grip on the tree it belonged too. Excited and terrified, it floated through the air, seeing not much. Where were the adventures, the grand sights the wind had promised all these months?
It swirled aimlessly along the breeze, until it landed on the cold hard ground, never to be moved again.
All alone, in a place it didn't know, the leaf cried out in despair.
But its voice was lost in the wind.
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