Prelude to My Brother's Keeper
Defiantly, the tree holds tightly to its one remaining leaf. As gust upon gust of wind rips through its branches declaring to the world that winter has come, obstinately holding on, the leaf remains. Many others have fallen this day. They were the last hangers on in a seasonal battle that will inevitably strip the tree bare. But one leaf holds on. It holds on. And it holds on until it can do so no longer. As the north wind batters its breath against this lonely tree, finally the wind gains the upper hand and the leaf breaks free.
Riding the current of this frigid wind, the leaf floats and flutters far from its home. Now rising, now falling, the curly-edged brown, dancing, and dying leaf paints a lively counterpoint to the bleak, barren landscape that is part and parcel of mid September in the north country. Spinning in its dance, this leaf finally comes to rest along an overgrown, almost unused path about a mile from the lonely tree from which it launched. As is gently touches down, the leaf is immediately ground into nothing by a big back boot.
The entire Prelude here...
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0Ac-V0ZEvcOPkZGNtOXN3NnBfM2Q1N2h3dmZu&hl=en
If you're into writing, I need collaborators.
Defiantly, the tree holds tightly to its one remaining leaf. As gust upon gust of wind rips through its branches declaring to the world that winter has come, obstinately holding on, the leaf remains. Many others have fallen this day. They were the last hangers on in a seasonal battle that will inevitably strip the tree bare. But one leaf holds on. It holds on. And it holds on until it can do so no longer. As the north wind batters its breath against this lonely tree, finally the wind gains the upper hand and the leaf breaks free.
Riding the current of this frigid wind, the leaf floats and flutters far from its home. Now rising, now falling, the curly-edged brown, dancing, and dying leaf paints a lively counterpoint to the bleak, barren landscape that is part and parcel of mid September in the north country. Spinning in its dance, this leaf finally comes to rest along an overgrown, almost unused path about a mile from the lonely tree from which it launched. As is gently touches down, the leaf is immediately ground into nothing by a big back boot.
The entire Prelude here...
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0Ac-V0ZEvcOPkZGNtOXN3NnBfM2Q1N2h3dmZu&hl=en
If you're into writing, I need collaborators.
I'd offer my self as dream to become a writer my self although I'm still not as good in writing in english as I would like to.
And thanks for the comment on my blog