The leaf was on the grass, not moving. “There’s wind,” said the rock, “so what gives.” The wind tried harder. The leaf didn’t budge. “Is it refusing,” said the brook, “or is this not a matter of will at all, but rather a matter of physics?” The bramble didn’t understand: “Are you saying the topography is such that the leaf sits in a hollow that can’t be reached by the wind?” The grass was incensed. “Get off me,” said the grass. The tree weighed in: “It moved when it was on me—maybe it just loves you so much.” The mockery in the tree’s tone was conspicuous. The empty soda can with a crimp in its side felt the chill of evening coming. The acorn dreamed of something like heaven. The leaf remained immobile. The yellowed pulp paperback cover with a picture of a shirtless Abraham Lincoln thought about calling a doctor.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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