The Dance of the Trees
When the curtain of day rose revealing the costumes they had donned for the finale, the whole world drew in its breath in surprise.
Never had we imagined such splendor, such a dazzling display of scarlets, crimsons, greens and golds. Every branch, every leaf was a masterpiece, radiant with color.
At first, everything was still. Then, ever so gently, a breeze waltzed in and the first of the leaves floated down, tracing signatures of grace in the morning air.
Then the breeze grew stronger and the leaves fell in troupes of tens and hundreds, twirling and whirling with delight.
The great limbs of the ancient ones swayed in the wind, and the boughs danced in joy, their colors waving like the long locks of some goddess, moving to a music that stretched back beyond time.
They danced like that all day, until night’s curtain fell, bringing with it the rain.
The next morning, many of the branches were bare, and leaves littered the ground like a thousand discarded programs. Children ran through them laughing and stuffed them in their pockets as souvenirs. And we sat, still filled with the wonder of the magnificent ballet.
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