Raking Leaves

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They are scattered all around in a dull splash of hurt, remorse, anger, regret, animosity, envy and bitterness. The leaves have odd shapes and their weight deal painful blows as they fall to ground. The mother tree is such a wretch and has been creating havoc for decades. She revels in the mischief of her falling leaves. 

The woman bends down, tired and weary, and amasses them one by one. Her blistered hands are calloused as she maneuvers with the giant rake. Her sack grows heavy in no time at all and she labours down the winding road, back strained and bending from the ponderous collection of the leaves.

Their tips are mucronate, piercing holes through the dirty sack, and jabbing the woman all about. Blood spills and starts to run over but she must endure the journey to cast them off, over the cliff of forgiveness. The woman treads on, persistent and courageous and then the most mysterious thing occurs. 

The leaves' edges are so sharp and their mass so burdensome that the holes in the sack dilate. One by one, they pummel to the ground and make gargantuan splatters amidst her tears. The woman turns quickly and hastens to pick them up, but she finds them hefty and is forced to abandon them. 

By the time she reaches the edge of the cliff, the sack is empty and she is as light as a feather, full of relief. Why carry such weight when it can be dropped off along the way? Today, the woman learns that weapons of destruction shall be their own demise and that the act of tirelessly raking leaves is not one's downfall, but rather one's conquest. So, the next time the tree shakes and weeds out, she stands ready with her rake of bravery, for she knows the load gets lighter as she persists along her way. 

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