On the first day of autumn, Mai Ling left the village and trudged through the forest. She wore a red cotton dress with white silk trim that Father had given her for the New Year. Although it was the finest dress she owned, she did not worry that it might get soiled during her journey. The tree would understand.

She reached a grass-covered hill and began to climb. The hill was steep, and her breath came harder, but her spirit rose with each step. Grandmother's voice whispered in her ear:  The Fortune Tree sheds only one leaf every year, and, Granddaughter, when your womanhood comes, the tree will shed a leaf for you.  What is written on the leaf will tell you what you must know.

Grandmother wouldn't disclose what had been inscribed on the leaf she had gathered forty-one years ago, but Mai Ling thought that it must have foretold of great things. After her journey to the tree, Grandmother had begun her study of herbs and essences, and now she was a respected healer.

Mai Ling's legs were tired and her dress was mottled with dark green grass stains when she reached the top of the hill and beheld the tree.

The golden brown trunk was thin and misshapen, journeying skyward haphazardly. If she stood on her tiptoes, Mai Ling could nearly reach the branches. The leaves were pear-shaped and flat as parchment. They rustled in the autumn breeze, showing off a dazzling array of colors: fiery red, ochre, shimmering silver, and violet. But not a single leaf lay on the ground.

She sat beneath the tree and crossed her legs. Below her and beyond the forest, she saw rows of wooden huts lining a main square with a community well. Clouds of white smoke drifted from several of the stone chimneys, mingling in the air above the village. The smoke reminded her of a time, four years ago, when a funeral pyre had been erected in the village square. When the fire was kindled, Mai Ling had looked for her mother's spirit rising to the sky, held in the smoky arms of the flames, but she saw nothing. Afterward, many villagers told her not to be sad because her mother's spirit had been lifted to the world beyond the sky. Mai Ling never told anyone that she had not seen it. 

She sat very still, feeling the autumn breeze toss and jostle the folds of her dress, listening to the leaves click against each other, and trying not to think about how long it would be until her leaf fell and what it might say. The leaves remained steadfast until early evening. Then, a violet leaf took flight, swirling into Mai Ling's outstretched hands. She held it as if it were a tiny hatchling fallen from a nest. The waxy cuticle on the outer surface felt cool and smooth.  The petiole was also violet, but a darker purple than the rest of the leaf. A delicate pattern of veins were arranged like threads in a net just beneath the cuticle. 

Tiny graceful strokes were delicately etched in golden ink on the surface of the leaf. Mai Ling took a deep breath and read:  “This is a leaf. It has fallen from a tree.”

She reread the message, memorized it, and then stood, holding the leaf between her fingers. A strong gust of wind swirled around her, and she let go. 

Finally, after four years of suffering the painful sting of smoke in her eyes, she let go.

 

Mai Ling watched kind, invisible hands playfully toss the leaf, and she smiled.

THE END

 

While meditating in a forested mountain glade, David achieved enlightenment. Unfortunately, a tree fell on his head immediately afterwards. No one heard the tree fall, but the impact somehow replaced his state of enlightenment with a passion for speculative fiction. His short fiction has received some recognition and has been published in Quantum Muse , but this has been not nearly enough to satisfy the members of his fan club (who shall remain anonymous). He is one of the editors of Electric Spec, an e-zine that has a lot in common with this one. (See www.electricspec.com ).

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