On a beautiful spring morning, the first rays of sunlight sparkled upon the dewdrops. The trees, which had stood bare throughout the long winter, were beginning to unfold their tender green buds.
And there, on a branch of a tall maple tree in a schoolyard, a tiny new bud was born.
His name was Zhora.
Mother Tree had stood in the schoolyard for many years. Every spring, she dressed herself in fresh green leaves. Every summer, she spread her thick, leafy crown to shelter the children from the scorching sun. And every autumn, she adorned the schoolyard in glorious shades of gold.
Zhora had been born at the very tip of her youngest branch. Each morning, he was the first among his brothers and sisters to greet the sunlight, and each evening, the last to wave goodbye to the red sun as it disappeared beyond the horizon.
At first, he was nothing more than a tiny, soft green bud. But as the days passed, he slowly unfolded, stretching out his delicate edges until he grew into a beautiful, broad maple leaf with five graceful points.
All around him, his older brothers and sisters swayed in the morning breeze, whispering secrets to one another and sometimes playfully competing for the warmest patch of sunshine.
“Zhora, look over here! There’s a rainbow in the sky!” one of his sisters would call.
And Zhora would stretch as far as he possibly could, gazing in wonder at the seven-colored rainbow arching across the blue sky after the rain.
Spring passed, and summer arrived.
During the hot summer days, Mother Tree’s branches filled with lush green leaves, until her crown looked like an enormous green umbrella spread above the schoolyard.
Zhora danced in the breeze with his brothers and sisters, washed his face in the raindrops, and basked happily in the gentle warmth of the sun.
But throughout the summer, the schoolyard remained quiet.
The children were gone. The swings moved ever so slightly in the breeze, and apart from the occasional sparrow chirping in the playground, hardly a sound could be heard.
Zhora had grown used to the stillness.
Then, one morning, the school bell rang.
Before long, the yard was filled with laughter, excited voices, and the patter of running feet.
Summer vacation was over. A new school year had begun.
Boys and girls with colorful schoolbags chased one another across the yard. Some kicked a ball, while others sat beneath the trees, talking with their friends.
Never before had Zhora seen so many children gathered in one place.
“Mother, why are they laughing so much?” he asked curiously.
“They’re happy to see their friends again, my dear,” Mother Tree replied, gently swaying her branches. “They must have missed one another all summer long.”
From that day on, Zhora eagerly awaited the children’s arrival every morning.
There was one little girl he liked most of all.
She wore her long hair in two braids and carried a red schoolbag. Each morning, as soon as she came through the school gates, she would run toward her friends. Whenever she laughed, she tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes into happy little crescents.
Sometimes, the girl would sit beneath Mother Tree’s shade and read a book.
Zhora longed to see the pictures inside it.
He would bend down as far as his branch allowed, stretching and straining to catch a glimpse of the colorful pages. But no matter how hard he tried, the book was always just beyond his reach.
“Oh, how I wish I could play with them, even just once,” Zhora whispered to his older brother.
His brother burst out laughing.
“But we’re leaves, Zhora! Our game is dancing with the wind.”
Zhora thought about his brother’s words and looked down once more at the children running across the yard.
He loved dancing with the wind. He truly did.
But the children’s games looked even more wonderful.
And so the days slipped by.
Almost without noticing, Zhora felt the fierce heat of summer soften into a gentler warmth. Each morning brought a cooler breeze.
The days grew shorter, the sunlight lost some of its strength, and more and more clouds drifted across the evening sky.
One morning, Zhora noticed a tiny yellow spot at the very tip of his leaf.
“Mother! Look at me! My color is changing!” he cried excitedly.
Mother Tree rocked him tenderly.
“That means autumn is coming, my dear. Soon, you will turn golden.”
Zhora was delighted.
And sure enough, only a few days later, his bright green color began to fade. A warm golden glow spread from his tips, while delicate shades of orange and reddish amber appeared along his edges.
His brothers and sisters were changing too.
Before long, Mother Tree looked as though she had dressed herself in a magnificent gown of gold, crimson, and orange.
Even the children playing in the schoolyard noticed her beauty.
“Look! What a beautiful tree!” a little girl exclaimed.
Zhora was so proud that he swayed even more enthusiastically in the breeze.
But autumn days were not always filled with sunshine.
One night, cold rain began to fall, and a fierce wind shook Mother Tree’s branches.
When Zhora awoke the following morning and looked around, several of his brothers and sisters were gone.
“Mother, where have my brothers gone?” he asked in surprise.
“They have gone away with the wind, my dear,” Mother Tree answered.
Zhora stared at her in astonishment.
“Where to?”
For a moment, Mother Tree was silent.
Then she spoke softly.
“In every leaf’s life, there comes a time to leave its branch. We are born in spring, we grow through summer, and in autumn, we change our colors. When the wind arrives, some leaves settle upon the earth, while others travel to faraway places.”
For the first time in his life, Zhora felt a little fear stirring inside him.
“Does that mean I have to go too?” he asked sadly.
“Yes, my dear. One day, you too will have to leave,” Mother Tree replied in a gentle voice.
The little leaf trembled at her words.
“But… but I don’t want to go! I want to stay with you!”
Mother Tree swayed her branch tenderly, as though she were stroking Zhora with all the love in her heart.
“I know, my dear. I know. But you mustn’t be afraid. Wherever you go, the spring, summer, and autumn days you spent upon my branches will always remain with you.”
Zhora did not quite understand what she meant.
All he wanted was to stay on his branch, sway in the wind beside his brothers and sisters, and listen to the children’s laughter every morning.
But the autumn winds grew stronger with each passing day.
One afternoon, while the children were playing in the schoolyard, gray clouds gathered overhead.
Suddenly, a powerful wind swept across the yard.
Mother Tree’s branches rocked wildly from side to side, and dry leaves began to whirl through the air.
Zhora clung to his branch with all his strength.
“Mother! I’m frightened!” he cried.
“Zhora, my dear little one…” Mother Tree called back.
But before she could finish, a mighty gust of wind rushed through her branches.
And Zhora’s tiny stem broke free.
“MOTHER!”
Zhora cried out in terror.
He began to fall, but suddenly the wind lifted him high into the air.
He spun and tumbled, rising and falling, swept helplessly from side to side.
Mother Tree grew farther and farther away.
When Zhora looked down, the schoolyard, the playground, and the children’s colorful schoolbags were growing smaller beneath him.
“Take me back! Please, take me back! I want my mother!” he cried into the wind.
But the wind, whether it heard him or not, only blew faster.
Zhora flew over rooftops, swirled through narrow streets, and swept past a tall chimney.
Far below, people hurried along the sidewalks, cars rushed down the roads, and somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking.
He had never imagined the world could be so enormous.
Once, the wind nearly dropped him onto the roof of a tall building. But just as he was about to land, another gust lifted him into the sky and carried him over a garden.
There, dozens of red, yellow, and brown leaves were dancing in the air.
Some drifted gently to the ground, while others rose again on the wind.
Seeing them, Zhora realized he was not alone.
But he still missed Mother Tree terribly.
“I want to go home…” he whispered.
Little by little, the wind began to grow calm.
Soon, Zhora found himself floating above a small house surrounded by a low white fence and a lovely little garden.
Rosebushes grew beside a narrow stone path, and a wooden bench stood near the window.
The earth smelled fresh after the rain, and tiny droplets of water glistened upon the green grass growing between the stones.
The wind gave Zhora one last gentle turn and laid him softly upon the garden path.
For a while, Zhora lay perfectly still.
Everything around him was strange and unfamiliar.
Mother Tree’s branches were nowhere to be seen.
He could no longer hear his brothers and sisters whispering in the breeze.
And the schoolyard, once filled with the children’s laughter every morning, had vanished from sight.
Zhora spread his golden body across the cold stones and began to cry quietly.
“Mother, where are you?” he called again and again.
But no one answered.
Just then, the door of the little house opened.
A pair of small shoes came walking along the stone path.
Zhora was so frightened that he could not move.
“Oh! What a beautiful leaf!”
A familiar voice rang out.
Zhora looked up.
Standing beside him was a little girl with two long braids.
The very same girl who carried a red schoolbag!
Yes! It was the girl who used to sit beneath Mother Tree and read her books. The girl who ran laughing toward her friends every morning in the schoolyard.
Zhora could hardly believe his eyes.
The little girl bent down and very carefully lifted him between two fingers.
“Mom! Come here! Look at the beautiful leaf I found!” she called excitedly.
Her mother came out of the house.
“What a lovely leaf!” she exclaimed. “Just look at those beautiful colors!”
The girl held Zhora up toward the sunlight.
Golden light shone through his delicate body, revealing fine veins that branched like tiny rivers.
The tips of his five graceful points glowed orange, while a soft reddish border traced his edges.
“Mom, I want to keep this leaf and put it in my autumn scrapbook,” the girl said.
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” her mother replied. “But first, we need to dry it carefully. Then we can seal it in a clear protective sheet so it will last a very long time.”
The girl smiled happily and carried Zhora into the house, holding him as gently as a treasure between her two hands.
Zhora looked around the warm little room in amazement.
Beside the window stood a small table covered with colored pencils and picture books. Drawings of suns, clouds, and flowers hung upon the walls.
The girl carefully laid Zhora on a clean sheet of paper, covered him with another, and placed him between the pages of a thick book.
“Rest here for a little while,” she whispered. “I’m going to make you the prettiest leaf of all.”
Zhora was astonished.
Only that morning, he had believed that once he had fallen from Mother Tree, everything was lost.
But this little girl had called him beautiful.
She had held him so carefully in her hands.
And now she wanted to keep him safe and treasure him.
Then the girl closed the thick book with Zhora tucked safely between its pages.
Inside, there was only darkness and silence to keep him company.
Sometimes, he heard the soft sound of the girl’s footsteps approaching.
Then he would feel her gently stroking the book’s cover and hear her whisper:
“Just wait a little longer, my little leaf.”
Several days passed.
At last, the girl opened the book and carefully lifted Zhora from between its pages.
He had become flat and dry.
His colors had softened a little, but his beautiful golden glow remained.
With her mother’s help, the girl placed Zhora in the middle of a special transparent sheet and carefully sealed it with a laminating machine.
Now he was protected on both sides by a thin, clear, shining covering.
The girl lifted him toward the light streaming through the window.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she cried happily. “He looks just like a little golden star!”
Then she opened her large autumn scrapbook and fastened Zhora onto one of its pages.
Beneath him, she wrote in colorful letters:
“My First Autumn Leaf”
That evening, the little girl placed her scrapbook beside her bed and went to sleep.
Zhora lay quietly in the pale moonlight that streamed through the window, remembering the days that had passed.
The warm mornings of spring.
The tiny green bud that had opened for the very first time.
The golden sunshine of summer.
The laughter of his brothers and sisters.
And Mother Tree’s branches swaying gently in the breeze.
Remembering it all made Zhora a little sad.
But then he thought of the little girl’s smiling face.
Tomorrow morning, she would show him to her friends.
Perhaps she would even show him to her teacher and tell everyone where she had found him.
And now, he no longer needed to fear being carried away by the wind or soaked by the rain.
For a long time, Zhora gazed at the night sky beyond the window.
Somewhere far away, in the schoolyard, Mother Tree was standing beneath the cool autumn sky, gently swaying her branches in the breeze.
And when spring returned, she would unfold her tender green buds once again.
Suddenly, Zhora remembered something she had told him.
“Wherever you go, the spring, summer, and autumn days you spent upon my branches will always remain with you.”
Back then, he had not understood her words.
But now he did.
He could never return to his little branch on Mother Tree.
Yet no one could ever take away the happy days he had spent there.
And for the first time since leaving his mother, Zhora fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning, the little girl opened her scrapbook and smiled happily at her golden leaf.
“Good morning, my beautiful little leaf!”
Hearing her voice, Zhora smiled in his heart.
And in that moment, he understood something wonderful.
A fallen leaf’s journey does not always end when it touches the ground.
Some leaves travel far away with the wind.
Some become part of the earth, nourishing new life.
And some find a place in someone’s heart, where they remain as autumn’s most precious memory.
Zhora had become one of those leaves.
He was Mother Tree’s golden leaf, treasured forever in a little girl’s autumn scrapbook.