A patchwork carpets the ground in the woods by my house, dropping from above until they are perfectly set below. Soon they'll compost into the soil, feeding their maple mother for another season. Each leaf having served its purpose, another will take it's place next season.
Every few years we get to vote in state and local elections, and every four years a national one. During each election, feelings and fears are heightened, relationships strained, and a cultural anxiety reveals itself. But after it's over, the fears usually recede, the relationships recover, and some semblance of normal returns until the next cycle of elections.
I wonder what the leaf thinks. I wonder if the leaf is as frightened as we all are. Anticipating a fall in one way or another and hoping for a soft landing.
The leaf doesn't know it, but it has a purpose in it's fall. He is in control of when and where it falls.