The leaf knew it was in for a rough day. The wind was in a huff and was puffing and blowing like a bull with a migraine. The leaf also knew it wasn’t alone. Millions of other leaves were in for it too. They all, like it, didn’t want to lose their grip on their master, the tree. They were both master and servant but also one in the same.

It’s little known, the leaf mused, that once summer is over and leaves have made energy for the tree to grow that it’s master sucks the life out of every leaf back into the heart of itself. Leaves do not die even though they appear withered and dry but their life force is reabsorbed back into the vast trunk of the tree and their shells fall to the floor where the last vestiges of energy are drawn up by the patiently waiting roots. When spring returns the leaf magically reappears to recommence his duties.

Summer wasn’t over so the leaf clung on, desperate to serve its master. It saw others close by torn from their master and it felt their pain and loss. It fought hard against the whistling wind. It’s and millions of other leaves’ efforts rose in a huge cacophony of rustling exertion. The crescendo growing with each gust, waxing with each wane of the wind.

The leaf was tough, it had endured worst. As the wind began to lose its anger and the sun cracked through gaps in the slowly disappearing clouds, the leaf smiled, opened its pores proudly and let the sunlight in.

Energy began to pour from the leaf and its master was happy.