Every time I look back at that memory, I get choked up because I think he may have been right. The leaves were ‘bleeding’ and thus ‘dieing.’ What appeared so beautiful to me could have been the agonizing pains of the leaves trying to hold on to a fleeting existence in which they inevitably become dust. Even when my brother said that, I felt as if I had to save them somehow. I didn’t know how to protect them, but I felt in my conscience that I needed to help them. I wanted to console them somehow.