Bruno and the Last Leaf

All the bears in the wood were asleep for the winter. All except Bruno.

"I'll sleep when the last leaf falls," said Bruno. "Not before."

His mother, who was already half a dream, murmured that the last leaf might take a while. Bruno said he did not mind. He sat at the mouth of the den with his chin on his paws and watched the big oak tree at the edge of the clearing.

It had one leaf left. One. It was yellow, and it was high up, and it was holding on.

"Any minute now," said Bruno.

The wind came through the clearing. The leaf wobbled, waved, and stayed exactly where it was.

"Any minute," said Bruno.

A squirrel ran up the oak and down again, and the whole tree shook, and the leaf went flap, flap, flap, and stayed.

The sun went down. The leaf did not.

Bruno yawned, which surprised him, because he had been quite sure he was not tired. He put his head on his paws a bit lower. It was a cold evening, but the den behind him was warm, and the warmth came out and lay over his back like a second fur.

"Little bear," said a voice.

Bruno looked up. It was the owl who lived in the oak, sitting on the branch right beside the leaf.

"Are you waiting for this?" asked the owl, nodding at the leaf.

"Yes," said Bruno. "It's the last one. When it falls, it's winter, and then I'm allowed to sleep."

"Allowed?" said the owl. "Who said you had to wait for permission?"

Bruno did not know what to say to that. He had just assumed that the leaves were in charge.

"This leaf," said the owl, "is holding on because it likes the view. It might be here tomorrow. It might be here next week. Leaves are stubborn, you know. Quite like bears."

Bruno looked at the leaf. The leaf, if a leaf can do such a thing, looked back.

"But if I don't wait," said Bruno, "who will see it fall?"

"I will," said the owl. "I see everything that falls. That's rather my job. And in the morning, when you wake up in the spring, I will tell you exactly how it went. Whether it spun. Whether it floated. Whether it landed on the squirrel, which, between you and me, I am hoping for."

Bruno smiled, which turned into another yawn, which turned into a very long one.

"You promise?" he said.

"I promise," said the owl. "Go in, little bear. The leaf will manage without you. So will the winter."

Bruno got up on his four sleepy legs and padded back into the den, into the warm heap of his family, into the exact bear-shaped space that had been waiting for him all evening.

Outside, the owl settled on the branch. The wind came softly through the clearing. And the last leaf, now that nobody was watching it, let go at last, and spun once, and floated, and landed, very gently, right on the sleeping squirrel.

The owl made a note of it. There would be a lot to tell in the spring.