My Autumn

• Leandra Colton, Grade 11, Australian Christian College - Southlands
• Short Story
• 2022

Finalist in the 'National Treasures 2022' competition

I held a piece of Autumn in my hands.
It was damp and full of colours and cold to my bare palms. I found it on the ground, just after the first rainy morning of March and I stooped to pick it up, but the wind got to it before me and stole it away. I chased the wind as it whistled down the path, trying to catch my Autumn before it flew out of my reach.
The wind dropped it carelessly in the sludgy creek where I caught tadpoles and played river boats. I stood at the bank of the creek and watched raindrops dance on my Autumn, trying to think of a way to get it out without muddying my new shoes.
I found a pronged stick and carefully fished my Autumn out of the cold water. It drooped in my hands as I carried it home.
“Mummy!” I called, rushing inside. “A tree gave me a piece of Autumn!”
She was standing in the kitchen drying dishes and she smiled when I presented her my soggy leaf, despite the fact that my yellow rain jacket was dripping water all over the floor.
“Here,” she gave me a paper towel. “Dry the leaf with this, I want to show you something.”
I waited in the kitchen, gently patting my Autumn down with the paper towel. I could hear the rain pitter-patter on the roof, like an Irish dancer in tap shoes.
Mummy came back with something in her hands. It looked like a strange sandwich, made of wood and paper and held together by bolts.
“This is a flower press.” She said, “You can dry out that leaf and keep it forever.”
We sat on the kitchen floor and undid the bolts. I laid my Autumn in the flower press, said goodbye and twisted the bolts back in place. Then it was hidden away in a box and forgotten.
Since then I have grown up and changed like the trees do every season. Now, the creek only exists in my memory and the house has long since been sold. I have seen many Autumns; they’re always full of colour, but they’re not like the colours of spring where everything says life, these colours are dying colours. It's like the trees set themselves on fire to go out with a bang. Then like sparks from a fire, the brightly coloured leaves drop to the ground and fade away.
But one day a little boy comes running up to me, an orange leaf in hand.
“Mummy! Look what I found on the ground!” He says and suddenly I remember the box.
“Come with me.” I tell him.
Together we climb the ladder up to the attic where a small wooden box lies in a corner. I take the flower press out and he helps me undo the bolts.
“What's in it Mummy?” He asks me.
I smile as I pull the dried leaf out.
“My Autumn.” I say.