Crusty leaves stay still on the silent tree. A single gust of wind blows the colourful leaf off the chipped branch of the old oak tree. It gracefully floats and dances down the the grassy field. A combination of colors like blood red and orange are drawn onto the leaf. It feels smooth like rubber as I rub the leaf between my palms. Thick waves of solid veins run across the leaf. They travel to the tips of the five pointed leaf. Long fiery sparks of bendiness rushes across the stem. I have to make sure that I don’t bend it too much because it’s fragile.
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