Wandering on a Leaf: A Life in Motion

Sometimes my mind shows me things not as memories. They appear as moving pictures, scenes that explain feelings I never had words for.

Last night, an image came to me — not a memory, not a dream, but an animation of my life. A little girl drifting through the air on a leaf. She laughed easily then, bubbling with joy, as people around her watched with awe.

Her mother’s heart surrounded her leaf like protection, contentment flowing from their eyes. Her father walked beside her, holding her hand. She looked up at him with pride, and he looked at her with admiration. A teacher opened books like doors to new worlds, each page lifting her higher.

Then a boy appeared, jealousy burning quietly in his eyes. His anger was too big for her tiny heart. His harsh words shattered her laughter. She curled beneath her leaf, trembling, sinking to a lower place.

But her mother’s heart shielded her. Her sisters and the other girls pulled her up with playful hands. And she drifted again, smiling once more.

Until another hand reached for her — causing her to shake, shrink, and fall. She crawled back to the middle of her family, drifting now with guarded eyes instead of joy.

People appeared and disappeared beside her leaf with small offerings of normalcy — moments that made her feel almost safe. She smiled, hesitantly. But strange hands kept reaching, knocking her down again and again.

Still, she climbed back.
Still drifting.
Still rising.
Putting the smile back on her lips.

Then she became a young woman, still floating on the leaf. Boys brought flowers, but she saw handcuffs. When they tried to offer their hand, she saw walls. She saw imprisonment in a house. She shielded herself and kept drifting.

A young man appeared, different from the rest. She offered him her heart. He lifted her to a higher level — only to crush her heart and throw the pieces down.

She fell, but now she had two children on her shoulders. She shaped her life around their balance, making sure they did not fall even when she did. She gathered the broken pieces of her heart and stitched together something stronger.

And then — she rose.
Higher than him.
Higher than the versions of herself who had fallen.

She kept drifting, through rise and fall, but every rise took her to a higher level. And she pulled everyone around her up with her.

Maybe this is how my mind makes sense of the years —
the falls, the hands that pushed me down,
the hands that lifted me,
the heart that shattered,
the hearts I protected.

Maybe the leaf was never just a leaf.
It was me, carrying myself through every season, always rising a little higher.