A leaf drifts down a river, from which tree it fell is unknown.
It tumbles and twists, banging and bumping against rock and stone, its course forever down stream.
From time to time, the leaf encounters another. They become entangled, drifting in the flow together.
Through rapid and calm, they journey onward, the current carrying them ever forward.
They catch upon a drift wood piece, and here they rest and settle as the river does rush on past.
Turbulent waters and rubbish too, bash and smash against these leaves. They hold on tight, yet are strained and torn.
And then one day, their bond does part, their partnership has ended and that solitary leaf is alone again.
Further onward the leaf does wash, it floats from river bed to surface, at the mercy of the flow.
Until sometime, the leaf passes beyond, whether sea or structure, the leaf decays, its veins and fibres, torn asunder.
Its journey has ended and the leaf now rests.
That leaf is me.
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