Leaves in the Wind

Teresa lived in a world of her own, everyone told her so. And they
told each other, when she was out of hearing, that the girl was a
little simple, not quite right in the head, but still the sweetest
person you could ever hope to meet. They pretended not to notice the
fact she looked right through anyone, when they spoke to her, in a most
disconcerting way. In a world of her own, not quite here, they
said.
Teresa spent her time alone, but never lonely. She sat on her own at
school, she stood in an empty space in the playground and she took long
solitary walks. The teachers excused her odd behaviour; her marks more
than made up for it. Her parents weren't there often enough to notice
it. A visiting doctor from London had.
Teresa loved to walk. She would walk for hours, under the beeches and
oaks, along the bridleways around her home. She walked to school and
home again, she walked to her local shops, she walked wherever her
fancy took her. And sometimes, her fancy took her very far afield
indeed.

* * *

"Hello, Fell residence. Who is calling, please?"
"Hello, Mrs Fell, I presume? This is Dr Gardner."
"How may I help you, Dr Gardner?"
"Your husband contacted me about your daughter. I may I found a cure
for her 'problem'."
"That's wonderful! When can you come, or would you rather we brought
her to you?"
"I will be with you Monday evening, if that is ok?"
"It's wonderful!"
"I must warn you, this is an experimental treatment for your
daughter's condition only. But if all goes well, she should be behaving
like a normal person within a month."
"Wonderful! Oh, I'm so pleased you can help."
"I'll see you on Monday, then."
"Yes, Monday."
"Goodbye, Mrs Fell."
"Goodbye and thank you, Mr, I mean, Dr Gardner."
"Goodbye."

* * *

It was a Sunday when Teresa walked along the bridleway that ran along
the fields. Most of her small religious village was in church, but
Teresa saw no reason to be there. No one had ever made her go, though
she had gone to listen to the hymns once or twice. Teresa sat on a
fallen log and stared across the corn-filled fields. She recited
Rudyard Kipling's 'A Tree Song' as the russet oak leaves around her
swirled in a gentle breeze.
Teresa watched the leaves, fascinated by their colours: all reds,
golds, russets and warm, deep browns. Some brushed her bare legs and
stuck on her bootlaces. The icy wind raised goosebumps on her flesh.
She tossed her hair back and let the wind snatch her scarf from her
neck. She watched it scamper down the hillside. She had absolute faith
that it would return to her.
She didn't understand why the leaves changed colour the way they did,
or why sometimes the breeze was warm and gentle to her, and sometimes
harsh and biting. She didn't understand where the snow went when the
winter ended. She could recite the teacher's knowledge of it all, but
she didn't understand it. She didn't understand why they told her
everything except why things would do the things they did. Bluebells
grew in the woods in the spring, but why did they do so? She knew how,
and what made them, but she felt certain that the bluebells must have
some sort of say in it.
Singing 'Paint with all the colours in the wind' from Disney's
Pocahontas she wandered through the golden corn that waved so
cheerfully at the sharp blue sky, she stood a little away and above the
church, listening to the bells sing for her. She didn't believe in
echoes and vibrations, for her the bells merely sang, lifting up their
ringing voices for the world to her.
Teresa walked down to the graveyard, carefully climbing over the
dry-stone wall and lying on the grass between gravestones. The yew
looked down on her and smiled with it's waxen red eyes, so beautiful to
look at and so deadly to eat. Teresa stared at the dark green needles
of the tree, silhouetted against the empty sky. A newcomer to the
village strode over and bossily set about telling Teresa that it was
disrespectful to lie just so in a graveyard. Teresa closed her eyes and
watched the clouds. The parson came over and led the stranger away,
explaining to her about Teresa's world. Teresa smiled.

* * *

"Oh, darling! Before you go to work&;#8230;"
"Yes, dear? Please make it quick, I have an important meeting."
"That nice Dr Gardner is coming this evening. He's going to make
Teresa better. Medicine, to help her concentrate on reality, I
think."
"That's good, dear. I'm afraid I won't be here, though."
"Never mind. He says our Terri sees the world like a young child. She
doesn't see what's really there, only what she wants to be there. She
ignores what she doesn't understand or like and pretends that there's
something she does like there instead."
"Fascinating. I must be off now. See you later."
"Goodbye, darling."
"Goodbye."

* * *

On Monday, Teresa sat in art class. For everyone else it was maths,
but the teacher ignored the quiet girl. Teresa had listened dutifully
while the teacher explained the new equations, and filed them away in
her mind for the ever-looming exams. No one realised that she didn't
need to take them. Nothing she would ever do would require knowledge of
equations, molecules, distant lands, past battles or verbs and
nouns.
Teresa drew the leaves. She drew the reason that they had danced for
her. Long slim limbs, tiny sharp faces with cheeky grins and skin the
colours of autumn. Leaves upon their backs, they were dancing in the
wind. Long thin bodies, all green, carrying blue and lilac bells.
Leaves upon their backs, they were carpeting the woodland. Short and
thin, a midnight green, carrying little red wax balls. Leaves upon
their backs, they were protecting the dead from the living.
Once, she had shown others these pictures. They had called her people
fairies. They had begged for her to draw themselves with gossamer wings
and flower clothing. Teresa explained that she couldn't, because she
could only draw what was real, and these people begging for portraits
weren't fairies. She didn't even get to the part where she told them
that they weren't fairies she was drawing, and even if they were, they
didn't look how these people seemed to think they did. They weren't
Good. They were faeries, the little people, the lords and ladies, the
woodland sprites, the elves. They weren't a figment of the imagination
and no tale with them in had a happy ending.
The maths teacher came round to help the girl sitting next to her with
a problem. He glanced across at the drawings, and smiled indulgently.
He told Teresa that her pictures were beautiful, and her idea of having
leaves for wings was inspired. She stared at him, unblinking. He
couldn't hold her gaze, and turned to help the girl, who shot Teresa
jealous looks. Everyone was jealous with how much Teresa got away with,
but not one of them would have given up what they had for the freedom
she received. It was all very well being able to do what one liked, but
to always have to do it alone? They pitied her for it.

* * *

"Honey! You're home! There's someone here to see you!"
"Remember me, Teresa? I'm Dr Gardner."
"He's going to make you just like all the other kids! Isn't that
wonderful?"
"Put that heavy bag down, Teresa, and sit down over here while I
explain."
"I'm sorry, she doesn't talk much, Doctor. Terri, at least say
hello."
"Don't worry about it, Mrs Fell. She should be much more active once
she starts taking these."
"What are they?"
"Pills of my own devising. They should anchor her mind to reality a
little better. She'll see what is really there. These pictures, she
drew them?"
"I suppose so. There very good, aren't they?"
"Fairies. There is a fair chance she actually believes in their
existence, you know. These pills should stop all that. Teresa, can you
hear me? You are to take two of these with every meal,
understand?"
"They'll make you just like everyone else, sweetheart! Can you
imagine? You'll make friends and can forget about this whole silly
fairy thing."
"I'm afraid I must go now, Mrs Fell. I have an urgent appointment
tomorrow in London, and I really should be getting back before it gets
too late."
"Oh, I was hoping you'd stay for dinner. Cottage pie."
"I'm a vegetarian, actually. Much better for you, though thank you
anyway."
"It's suitable for vegetarians, it says so on the packet. Are you sure
I can't tempt you?"
"Perfectly sure, though I do appreciate the offer. I must be off.
Goodbye, Mrs Fell. Goodbye, Teresa."

* * *

Teresa sat on the log, watching the oak leaves. But they weren't
leaves. She understood 'why' now. She saw what was really there. They
waved at her, and smiled. She smiled back. Some of the little people
landed on her legs and sat there, watching her. Everything the London
doctor had said was true, except one thing:
"I can't believe he thought children ignore what they don't like.
That's adults, closing off their minds. They don't see what's there at
all." She told the faeries, who giggles shrilly.
There was something else wrong with what he had said; it occurred to
her suddenly. "And I'm not like anyone else at all. Not now." They
nodded sagely. She smiled again, picked up the bag of her belongings,
and followed them, chewing on one of the tiny apples they had given
her.

Leaves in the Wind

Leaves in the wind,
Each a silent dance of colours and light.
Autumnal tunes,
Crimson-gold dancers dancing until night.

Leaves in the frost,
Cruelly blown and frozen from their dances.
Winter stillness,
Black and rotting brown the ice enhances.

Leaves on the branch,
Freshly green buds singing the hope of spring.
Spring leaves laughing,
Clinging to branches in breezes they sing.

Leaves on the tree,
Glowing green in summer's soft light and shade.
Summer smiling,
Winds tickling every tree leaf and grass blade.

Leaves in the wind,
Each moment is a dance and song of light.
Time blown away,
Like leaves in the wind, we dance day and