A leaf ends it's existence of three seasons, falling down through the unknown air to the current of a crisp stream. This new journey begins to take control of it's life, and although it's gifted two opportunities, "left or right," it is only allowed to look back, never return; leaving that home, whose life only remains in the fibers of it's being. At first the stream picks up speed, opening into a larger mold of earth, more leaves now dragging beside it. Rocks begin popping from the surface as that little stream rapidly turns into so much more. These leaves are joined by scatterings of earth; leaf, moss or flower, they all return to the dirt with those they find, with those they keep tight to, and choose to hold onto through the bitter end when they have found their eternal stop. Some get separated by the river's jagged teeth, which always look so far off and catch you off guard after they have passed. Others just drift away. But when this leaf comes to rest in the still water I know not what it will do, I only know that it will stop and turn into something rather new.