The Leaf - Chapter 3 / A Folha - Capítulo 3

Chapter 1 / Capítulo 1

Chapter 2 / Capítulo 2 


And she felt all at once a lifting of her sorrows and weariness. For, she thought, I can now be happy at last, as I am exactly as I always wanted to be. And she looked up for the first time in ages, and was surprised at how black and dismal the day was, and the wild fury of the wind that blew around, though she could scarcely feel it. And she looked first to the tree she had so long admired, hoping that the leaves would notice how she was now like one of them. But she saw that the branches were bare, and its leaves now nothing more than shrivelled brown husks on the ground, for their kind crumple and fall before those of the oak, and shall do so until the seasons themselves are at an end. And she was astonished by this, and looked back to the leaves around her on the old oak tree, which she had so long ignored. And she saw for the first time how they had all changed, much like herself, and become newly beautiful with the colours of autumn. The leaves she had budded with at spring were now a blaze of reds, yellows, and deep rich browns as though the whole tree were one great fire that fed upon nothing but itself.

She saw then that each one was different from the other, some more, some less, for no two had quite the same mixture of hues and patterns, or were cracked and folded into the same shape. It seemed to her then that they had always been different, even when green, and she might have seen this for herself had she looked more closely. No other leaf was exactly the colour and shape that she had become, but she stood out from the rest no more than before, for all were alike leaves of the oak, and looked together much as the oak leaves always do at this season. And though each one played its own special part, it was but a single tiny tongue of the great many coloured fire that seemed to spring from the branches of the tree, blazing itself away in a final show of glory to make way for the fresh new buds of the coming spring. And each one as it broke off fluttered down to earth where it would fertilize and nourish the roots of the tree through the long harsh winter and give it strength for the future, so that the cycle of life could begin all over again.

And the leaf saw all this for herself at last, and how, for all her trials and all the long waiting for something different to happen to her, now that it had finally come she could claim to be no better – and yet no worse – than any of the leaves around her. She did not feel sorry for what she had become, for she knew now that this had always been meant to be so from the beginning. But still she felt regret for all that she had missed during her long, long wait when she had turned away from the happiness around her. Perhaps, she thought, even now it is not to late to make amends, though I do not doubt that all the others must be feeling as cold and tired as myself, and will doubtless have little enough to spare for me. And she was about to call out to the leaves that still hung from the branch around her, to tell them how beautiful they all were and how sorry she was not to have seen it before. But just then came another puff of wind – no stronger than those before it, but just enough at this moment to snap suddenly the stalk, now become so fragile and easily broken, that still held the leaf to the tree from which she had sprung. She felt herself spinning round and round, blown helpless in the empty air, until at last she landed among the other dead leaves scattered through the grass of the park.

The End.

E ela sentiu um alívio de todas suas tristezas e preocupações de uma só vez. Isso porque ela pensou que agora poderia finalmente ser feliz, por ser exatamente como ela queria ser. E olhou para cima pela primeira vez após muito tempo e ficou surpresa eis que o dia estava bem negro e lúgubre, e o vento soprava furiosamente, embora ela mal podia senti-lo. E primeiro ela olhou para a árvore que por tanto tempo admirou, esperando que suas folhas notassem como ela era agora como elas. Mas viu que os galhos estavam vazios, e suas folhas nada mais do que cascas secas, enrugadas e marrons no chão, pois aquele tipo de folha se amarrota e cai antes dos do carvalho, e continuará assim enquanto as estações passam. E ela ficou espantada com isso, e olhou para as folhas ao lado dela no carvalho, as quais tinha ignorado por tanto tempo. E viu pela primeira vez que todas elas tinham mudado igual a si, e estavam lindas com as cores do autono. As folhas com as quais ela havia nascido do botão na primavera ficaram vermelhas, amarelas e marrons e era como se a árvore toda fosse uma grande fogueira se alimentando de nada além de si mesma.

Então ela viu que todas eram diferentes umas das outras, algumas mais, algumas menos, porque nenhuma tinha a mesma mistura de tonalidades e desenhos, ou estavam partidas e dobradas na mesma forma. Para a folha parecia agora que todas as outras sempre foram diferentes, mesmo quando eram verdes, e ela teria notado se olhasse mais de perto. Nenhuma outra folha era da mesma cor e forma que ela se tornou, mas ela não destoava das outras nem agora nem antes, pois todas eram parecidas folhas do carvalho, e tinham a aparência normal dos carvalhos nessa estação do ano. E mesmo que cada uma tinha sua parte especial, não era mais que uma pequena chama da grande fogueira de muitas cores que parecia nascer dos galhos da árvore, se queimando em um show final de glória, abrindo caminho para novos e frescos botões da primaveira que está para chegar. E cada uma se quebrou do galho da árvore, e cairam na terra onde iriam fertilizar e nutrir as raízes da árvore durante o longo e difícil inverno, e lhe dar força para o futuro, para que o ciclo da vida comece de novo.

E a folha enxergou tudo isso finalmente, e agora, depois de todas provações e longa espera pelo acontecimento de algo differente, ela não poderia alegar que era melhor, ou pior, que as outras folhas ao seu redor. Ela não se arrependeu do que se tornou, pois sabia agora que isso teria que acontecer desde o começo. Mas mesmo assim, sentiu arrependimento por tudo que perdeu durante sua longa, longa espera quando deu as costas à felicidade ao seu redor. Talvez, ela pensou, ainda não seja tarde demais para fazer reparações, embora não duvide que todas as outras estejam com frio e cansaço que nem eu, e terão pouco para compartilhar comigo. E ela estava prestes a chamar as outras folhas que ainda estavam penduradas no galho ao redor dela, para lhes dizer como eram todas lindas e como ela estava arrependida de não ter notado antes. Mas então veio um sopro de vento, não mais forte do que os anteriores, mas o suficiente nesse momento para partir o caule, já frágil e fácil de quebrar que a segurava na árvore de onde nasceu. Ela se sentiu girando, assoprada desamparadamente no ár vazio, até que finalmente aterrisou entre as outras folhas mortas espalhadas no chão do parque.

Fim.

Credits: Story by Hrothgar and translation into Portuguese by Livia.