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The Fallen Leaf

–Short Stories, Poetry And Photography

The October winds grew stronger as the night fell.  It would be a cold night, windy, chilly, and dark, and moonless.  Only a few days ago the trees were heavy with leaves, red, orange, and bright yellows.  Tonight the leaves fell from the trees like snow in a blizzard.  They covered the yard and were crisp and made a crunching sound when I walked the dogs across the yard.

We would sleep good tonight, snug under quilts after cups of hot chocolate, cookies, and scary movies.  The wind gusted hard and shook the windows, the lights flickering and the sounds of broken branches falling soon faded into dreams and deep sleep.  After all, dreams tell us stories and this was my dream this night, this night of cold winds, broken branches, and fallen leaves.

One by one the leaves fell carpeting the ground, yet one had weathered the storm, and when the night faded, and in the quiet just before dawn, the leaf held to the branch.  It had been there since early spring, the first leaf on the old oak.  As time passed the leaf welcomed others and soon the tree became a shade tree.

The spring passed, the summer recently gone, and the tree barren but for the last leaf.  It held on through the stormy night and the dawn found the yard buried in brightly colored leaves.  The breeze came in gusts each one stronger than the last until it finally let go.

The leaf floated in the calming wind, twirling slowly and even rising back up toward the oak.  The morning held no sounds and for a long moment it balanced on the breeze then slowly landed within the garden, the finishing touch to the collage of colored leaves.

I awakened early, brewed some fresh coffee, looked out at the leafless tree, and said out loud to my dog I wonder what happened to that last leaf.  Feeling a bit sad, I sat by the window and watched the birds land on the barren tree.

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Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

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