Creative Writing Prompts (For Fun!) Part II

April 24, 2012
By Phanstein PLATINUM, Claremont, California
Phanstein PLATINUM, Claremont, California
27 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
Wise men talk because they have something to say, fools talk because they have to say something.

-- Confucius

A leaf . . .

A chill still runs through the air and playfully rushes along the budding branches of the sycamore tree. This tree has been growing here for 24 noisy years in the city. Yet, upon the gnarled wood, life begins anew. A leaf, currently smaller than a mouse’s ear slowly unfurls its newfound, green splendor. It is too small and frail to support itself and make food for now. So, the tree readily provides vital nutrients from within its wooden trunk to feed its future helper . . .

After the passing of a month or so, the leaf has grown. Still small, but now strong and self-sufficient. Soft, woolly fuzz coats the leaf like the down on a newborn bird. It soaks up the sun’s rays hungrily and through elaborate chemical processes, produces precious nutrients for itself as well as the tree. A microscopic miracle within a macroscopic world . . .

Time goes by . . . A large, leathery leaf has burst forth to feed off of the now waning light. The grizzled fuzz still clings to the bottom of its surface like an old man’s beard. It has endured heavy rains, swift winds, birds fluttering from branch to branch, and scampering children plucking bark and many other items from its home. Strong veins protrude from the stem, but for how long?

A chill returns to the world, yet it is not the same as the one that signaled birth. Shadows lengthen and the sky turns gold. As do the old, tired leaves as they grow wrinkled and change. Death flits from place to place to claim its prize and sweet life takes its permanent absence. The tree has long gone to sleep, no longer needing its helpers for the year. All of this happens so naturally, so beautifully, that for others it becomes a time of morbid celebration.

The cold, unfeeling wind whisks the dead away to flight. Each leaf’s final resting place remains uncertain, for they are often sent into turmoil repeatedly. Swirling, rising, falling, and rising again . . . the leaf gives its elegant dance. Eventually, the wind is stilled and the living move on to other activities. The leaf has found its new and final resting place between the wires of a chain-link fence. Brown and forgotten, it rots away . . . Aiding the birth of new life.

The author's comments:
Another bit of my creative writing exercises.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Swoon Reads

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!