Let them be as leaves, always changing colors and blowing around in the wind but limited to one season of life.
I’d rather be a branch, observing like a scientist experimenting and learning.
To have survived the coldest winters, to live, strong and sturdy. To be swayed by the gentle breeze across an open field or by rough gales on the tops of mountains.
I’d rather be boring, and if then ignored by everyone, than to be a colorful leaf, growing in the safety of a backyard where they are admired and then raked up by uncaring hands.
I’d rather look uninteresting and bland than bright and superficial. If I could be strong, observant and wise, I’d rather be a branch.