I was a bud when I heard a baby’s first word. Her mother was below me, pushing the stroller. “Bah!” It was a great word.
I was almost leafed out when the boy on a red bike slid into my tree. He scraped his arm and knee; he ran inside crying. The red bike lay below me for a while. I don’t know its thoughts, but I am certain it hurt much more than the boy.
In bright summer, I danced in the warm breezes. The young lady with yellow hair strolled beneath me with the young man in military uniform. They leaned against my tree, whispering promises, planning the future, and kissing lightly.
The boy on the red bike rode under me to start school. I watched the baby taking her first steps; she stopped to pat my tree. The young lady with yellow hair ambled along while reading a letter; she was laughing and crying, then laughing.
Daytime changed from cool to cold, and I let go of my tree, falling to the ground with the other leaves. Next year, another leaf will watch for my friends. Will it love them as much as I?