Fallen Perfection

The leaf stares down, far up from the ground. It's entire life has been for this very moment. It's past experiences and knowledge was all for this. No fear ran through the leaf; this wasn't death; this was a transformation, a new way of life. It's attachment to the tree is weakening, its time is soon.

It is a beautiful leaf, one among many; strong exterior, a firm stem. Its companions have already made the transition; they await its arrival. They are down at the ground, the radiant, colourful pile of leaves it previously gazed down upon. They cheer it on, encouraging it to perform. A small gust of wind blows, and it jumps.

It doesn't fall, it glides, floats, swims through the air as if it were its own. The leaves below gaze in awe as they watch this magnificent performance. This leaf is like no other; it is perfectly beautiful, gliding down the wind as if it was born for this very moment. It loops flawlessly, spirals down in a perfect circle until it so gently lands silently on the soft ground. They surround the leaf and congratulate it, cheer and applaud its spectacular performance. Never before have they seen something that beautiful, perfect.

Up on its branch sits a lone leaf. It is detached from the others, forgotten, alone. But its use to it. This leaf is different from the others. Its smaller, shriveled, weaker than the others. Its no wonder why everyone else forgot it was left behind. The small leaf had watched as its colleague made its perfect descent. It watched in awe, amazement, and envy. How it wished it could do something so naturally, so amazing.

Down below, nobody knew this one leaf was still attached, nor did they care. The leaf watched in fear, for to the leaf, it seemed like its companions were miles away, its friends were tiny little insects partying. But it had to do it, its whole entire life was for his very moment, and if they could do it, so could he. He felt a gust of wind coming, but wasn't sure if it was the right type of wind, but it didn't matter, it had already tried and muster as much courage as it possibly could, and it was now or never or it would lose its courage all together. The wind picked up. It was now. It jumped.

It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't graceful. Imperfect.

It fell like a rock.