Rain pattered down on her window. Every drop hit the window with its own tone. Its own story. She peered out, watching. There was a single tree. Its leaves, bright and green against the grey sky. This tree stood tall. Its leaves fluttered and whipped in the wind and rain but no matter what hit them, they stayed attached. They were strong. Her gaze shifted. Her eyes grazed across the field, long, beige, and soaking wet. They flew over the pond, the cows, and the stable, a red mass against the coming darkness. But no matter where they went, they always came back to that one tree. For some reason, it was captivating. The leaves weren’t perfect, they had holes from bugs, some were weather-worn, and each was a different color. But that was how it was. She squinted now, as the rain dumped its last bucket of water. It hammered over her roof, beat down on the stables, and lashed out at the tree but somehow, somehow, it kept its poise. It stood there. As the clouds fell away, wisp by wisp, she ran out. The night was as still as any other. Her bare feet thudded against the ground. Her T-Shirt whipped against her side. But she ran. She jumped into that tree. She launched herself into the leaves, the holed, wet, warn, colorful leaves. She had never seen anything as magnificent in her life.