Orange Leaf on the Maple

"Come on, leaves, go orange," said Noah.

He stood under the big maple in his backyard, with his sneakers in the grass. Grandma was coming on Saturday. She loved orange leaves more than anything. Noah wanted the maple to be orange when she came.

But every leaf was green. Green, green, green.

"Please be orange," Noah said. He said it very politely.

The leaves just waved.

So Noah tried something different. He ran inside and got his orange crayon from his backpack. He climbed on a stool and rubbed it on a leaf. Squeak, squeak. The leaf went orange in a streak. Then it went rip. The wind took it away, and it was a green leaf with a hole in it.

"That's not right," said Noah.

He sat down on the stool. His nose was cold. He breathed out, and a little white cloud floated up in front of him. It was the first cloud his breath had made all year.

Noah looked at the cloud. Then he looked at the tree.

"It's cold," he whispered. "Maybe the tree has to feel the cold first."

He walked around to the shady side, where the wind came in from the fence. He looked up, up, up. At the very tip of one branch, one leaf was orange. It was orange like a pumpkin and orange like a slice of the sun.

"There you are," said Noah.

He stretched up on his toes and the leaf let go. It floated down, round and round, and landed in his mitten.

Noah held it up. Behind him, a whole row of leaves was starting to turn. He could hear them rustle, rustle, rustle, like someone whispering a secret.