A Page for Restless Aspen Leaves

I brought my sketchbook up the hill to draw the aspen by the trail. Its pale trunk stood straight and quiet, but every leaf seemed full of feet. I wrote the heading "Still Leaves" and balanced my pencil on my knee.

The breeze slipped through the silver green. The leaves all turned their little faces, flashing light, then showing shade. "Hold still," I told the nearest branch. My cousin Niko laughed beside me. "I hope they keep on dancing. This tree looks glad today."

I did not think it looked so glad. It looked too busy to be drawn. Each time I chose a single leaf, it swung away before my pencil could trace its pointed tip. My neat leaf shapes became a blur, a smudge of tangled lines.

"Why draw them sleeping?" Niko asked. "The wind is part of what we see." He spread his hands like shaking leaves. I frowned down at my crowded page. I wanted one clear, tidy picture, not a tangle made of green.

Then the breeze grew soft a moment. One leaf hung close enough to study. Its edges curved around a point, its pale veins branching like small paths. I drew that leaf, then watched again. The whole branch shimmered back to life.

This time I let my pencil hurry. I made short curves around the leaves to show the ways they dipped and twisted. The marks were not the leaves themselves; they were the paths their moving made. Niko leaned close. "Now your tree can dance."

I crossed out "Still Leaves" at the top and wrote "A Tree at Play" instead. Below my drawing, I added a caption: "Even leaves have steps to learn." I liked the aspen's restless ways. My page was quiet in my lap, but nothing on it seemed asleep.