Leaf

It's kind of ironic, the life of a leaf. Born of a bud, they become part of a tree. Only months later they turn vibrant colors and glide to the ground. Then they curl up and turn brown. I am reminded of excited little feet, while the wind and leaves walk together. Whooshing and scraping across the ground, to new sights and sounds. Only in death does a leaf get to go where it has never gone, see what it has never seen. So every beginning leads to an end, and every end leads to a beginning.