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REAL MAPLE LEAF
When I started to let go of the branch I was scared. Rolled through the air without anything to hold me, torn by an invisible wind, suddenly, he had changed his touch for inexplicable violence. The real maple that bore me, remained undeterred by the attack of nature, could not help my fall. The violent blows inveighed against me to get away from him. I wanted to scream, go back to my place in the tree but that cold wind blowing on my surface, I let him. Tumbling, finally fell on the ground between a lot of sisters who wept his fate.
I was a beautiful leaf. I was born as a bright green button to open a spring slowly covering the garden of fragrant foliage ready to offer shade in the heat of summer. Then I grew up, webbing, large, toothed. The bright green faded to switch to a darker shade. I was the most beautiful tree and pampering offered by any viewer, I was taken to be somewhat vain. The birds, my closeness to land sought to sing and when I was young presumptuous of her beauty, a robin nested in my hand. I grew up admiring the orange hue of the feathers on his chest and singing harmony with which, each morning, I was delighted. I saw the birth of their tiny chicks and watched his first flight after being fed by their parents with great tenderness on the basis of insects and berries collected in the surroundings of the garden. But the day came the migration to warmer lands and left me in the solitude of the tree, lost in sorrow, just kept my hand as a reminder of lost happiness, that empty nest slowly crumbling. However, when the disappointment came over me harder, one morning, the birth of the dawn, came in rapid flight to occupy the site released by the family of robins, a blackbird dark plumage adorned only with a yellow beak with , I thought, was struggling to prove its value. At first, I was appalled by the blackness of their feathers but to hear her melodious singing, I stopped pining for my old friends and went to look at building a nest with the utmost love of parents towards the helpless fragile eggs hatched chicks painted blue brown macules. Later, during the heat of summer, looked forward to the morning when a human irrigation hose ran into the high branches, after wetting the soil where the roots took hold. The cool water trickled down my side in offering a new life until the night breeze, encouraged me to whisper lullabies songs learned in other lives forgotten.
And so came the fall. Both my back and my face yellow after becoming a red off. The aged deep green dye my brown texture to vary my uniform yellow color. Still and all, I remained a beautiful leaf to the day that my stem fell off the branch. I could not hold me over. Remained on the ground motionless, on the same tree sisters and other specimens that adorned the garden. All turns, trampled, soiled by the dust and dirt. Indifferent passersby seemed to enjoy our loneliness and pain while pushing us with their feet until the afternoon, lost all hope, ready to die, a child's hand grasped me warmly. The stem to catch me, I could see his blue eyes fixed upon my skin as he studied my form and color. Cleaned, carefully, the land that I dirtied and without letting go of his hand, took me with him.
Upon arriving home, I put between the pages of a newspaper, alder hands and left me all night inside. Although I was scared, I was sheltered at the warm paper and hope to stay alive, came up with new impetus. In the morning I broke the paper, again smoothed by hand, gently and with great care not to break, spent his young children's fingers through my veins to ensure its perfect condition, no scratches or cuts. He put on a table and with maximum Carefully put me up a dark cardboard where I grabbed a tape. I said. I felt pride, happy, humming a song ripped from a notebook when a sheet of transparent tissue paper with me and kept me pinned inside the backpack in the company of their textbooks.
I'm in the school board admired by all. Still alive, cared for. I won an award for most beautiful leaf and best preserved. I'm still big, as well as the palm of the outstretched hand of a man, I have five points toothed, my veins have turned brown but still firm, whole and stem keeps the stalk as if he had to discard the tree. I am a real maple leaf, happy. MAGDA.
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