The Leaf Was Yellow (Flash Fiction)

The whistling of the kettle draws me out of my reverie. Right. I was making tea.

I pour the water. Letting the leaves steep, I don a sweater, scarf, and well-worn sneakers. I grab the thermos and go.

She was so beautiful. Confident. Filled with false promises and petty smiles. “What do you think?” she would ask. But it never mattered; things always went her way.

On and on my feet carry me, past bungalows and cul-de-sacs, the afternoon sun gliding west.

Breathe.

I feel the ground become soft, hear the crunch of leaves. My back meets the birch, and I trace my way down its paper bark until I’m among the roots.

Inhale.

Laughter. Fog. Confusion. A light that was never lit for me.

Exhale. Let it go.

The bitter taste of sencha abuses my tongue. The water was too hot and now my tea is burnt. I sip again.

Inhale.

The humid air fills with the commotion of a backhoe. A woodpecker drills nearby. Mosquitoes buzz and land on my front. I instinctively slap, and feel the touch of a fallen leaf.

A dazzling glint of gold.

Exhale.

There was beauty then, but I couldn’t see it.

I thought I’d left it behind. It simply remained in my breast pocket.

When the leaf was yellow, the birch dropped it.

Inhale.

It has served its purpose. A beautiful season together. And now, with the earth’s rotation, they part ways.

Breathe in the lessons.

Exhale.

Let it flutter to the ground.