Lost Little Leaf

The leaf fell from the tree, no longer aware of it's own actions. The sturdy old oak knew that it was one part closer to nakedness. The grass knew it was no longer within reach of the sun's radiant energy. Neither would wonder how the leaf felt in all of this, neither would care. The oak would mourn it's loss of one of a million sun-gathering limbs. Whereas each blade of grass would mourn the loss of it's own life - that is, until nature runs its course, and the leaf is blown away. In all of this no one thinks of the leaf's loss, which is the greatest of all. It's fall from greatness means a loss of it's own life. Yet, the one to give the leaf the least amount of thought is the leaf itself, no longer capable of such an action.

The wind doesn't care much either.

Whipped Cream with (the Possibility of) a Cherry on Top

Tears lashed out, not out of sadness, but of anger, frustration and maybe even a bit of betrayal. Their eyes hardened to the world as their creator came to realize she would never be content with life. She may never be medicatedly super-happy with what she had. But it was kind of like one of those pretty-please-with-whipped-cream-and-a-cherry-on-top deals. She would have the whipped cream; that, at least, she could control. And if a cherry or two decided to fall into place, the more the merrier. But she wouldn't be holding her breath, because if she did, then the whipped cream would never be enough- her life would never be enough. Her life would be enough, it would be okay. Her life would be the whipped cream.