The old maple tree had endured many seasons. Its leaves were discolored and fragile, threatening to float away with each gust of wind. But still it stood, towering above the small garden it had watched grow for over a century.
When the small boy found the tree that afternoon, its branches were bare and its roots exposed from years of weathering. “You must be so tired,” he said softly, placing his small hand against the rough bark. As if in response, a lone red leaf broke free, floating gently to rest in his palm.
Inspired, the boy had an idea. He ran inside and returned with armfuls of construction paper leaves, cutting and folding them with care. One by one he hung them from the twisting branches, bringing the old tree back to life with vibrant shades of orange, yellow and red.
By sunset a colorful grove had emerged where only moments before an empty skeleton had stood. The tree’s spirits seemed lifted by the boy’s gift, and its remaining leaves rustled softly in the breeze, as if expressing deep gratitude for being remembered after all this time.
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