A Conversation Between Two Leaves

last autumn leaves on tree branch

Several months ago I read the unabridged full version of Bambi by Felix Salten to Mrs. Sayuri. Perhaps one of my favorite sections we read was chapter 8. It is a brief chapter detailing a conversation between two of the last leaves of an oak tree right before winter comes to the forest. And although it may not sound like much – a conversation between two leaves – there is so much more said between these two friends than first it may seem… I love the compassion expressed by the first leaf to the second leaf in the end as they talk about aging and appearances changing as a result of that.

Bambi, Chapter Eight

The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow’s edge. They were falling from all the trees.

One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its tip.

“It isn’t the way it used to be,” said one leaf to the other.

“No,” the other leaf answered. “So many of us have fallen off to-night we’re almost the only ones left on our branch.”

“You never know who’s going to be next,” said the first leaf. “Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who’s going to go next.”

“The sun seldom shines now,” sighed the second leaf, “and when it does it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again.”

“Can it be true,” said the first leaf, “can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we’re gone and after them still others, and more and more?”

“It is really true,” whispered the second leaf. “We can’t even begin to imagine it, it’s beyond our powers.”

“It makes me very sad,” added the first leaf.

They were silent a while. Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, “Why must we fall?…”

The second leaf asked, “What happens to us when we have fallen?”

“We sink down…”

“What is under us?”

The first leaf answered, “I don’t know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows.”

The second leaf asked, “Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we’re down there?”

The first leaf answered, “Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it.”

They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, “Don’t worry so much about it, you’re trembling.”

“That’s nothing,” the second leaf answered, “I tremble at the least thing now. I don’t feel so sure of my hold as I used to.”

“Let’s not talk any more about such things,” said the first leaf.

The other replied, “No, we’ll let be. But – what else shall we talk about?” She was silent, but went on after a little while, “Which of us will go first?’

“There’s still plenty of time to worry about that,” the other leaf assured her. “Let’s remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we’d burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew , and the mild and splendid nights….”

“Now the nights are dreadful,” the second leaf complained, “and there is no end to them.”

“We shouldn’t complain,”said the first leaf gently. “We’ve outlived many, many others.”

“Have I changed much?” asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.

“Not in the least,” the first leaf assured her. “You only think so because I’ve got to be so yellow and ugly. But it’s different in your case.”

“You’re fooling me,” the second leaf said.

“No, really,” the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, “believe me, you’re as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it’s hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me.”

“Thanks,” whispered the second leaf, quite touched. “I don’t believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you’re so kind, you’ve always been so kind to me. I’m just beginning to understand how kind you are.”

“Hush,” said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more.

They they were both silent. Hours passed.

A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the tree-tops.

“Ah, now,” said the second leaf, “I….” Then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.

Winter had come.

2 Responses

  1. Auntie J
    Auntie J December 20, 2012 at 4:43 pm |

    It’s a great bridge and blending when more than one medium is involved…your photograph tied to literature. I just saw an exhibit in which some artists had created lithos for illustrating poetry and another book.

    Reading this posting today, I see what a rich blog you have created-brava!

  2. Donald Fritz
    Donald Fritz October 31, 2016 at 1:32 pm |

    Near Thanksgiving, every year during WJR, Detroit, Sunday morning program, “Patterns in Music”, the host Ted Strasser would read “Winter”, The conversation between leaves. His performance will always be remembered and cherished by devoted area listeners.

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