The Last Green Dragon

All summer long, you are green.

Green as the ferns beneath your feet. Green as the leaves overhead. Only the warm brown along your wings and tail gives you away when you play hide-and-seek among the trees.

Summer suits you.

The days are long enough to do everything. You swim in the pond until your wings drip. You chase beetles through the grass. You disappear beneath the thick forest canopy while squirrels pretend they can’t see you.

And when all that becomes exhausting, there is always a sunny rock waiting for a nap.

Then the mornings turn cool.

The sun goes down earlier.

You know what that means.

Autumn.

You are not ready for Autumn.

One afternoon, while you’re stretched across your favorite rock, something flutters high above.

A leaf.

Not green. Gold.

It drifts lazily downward, rocking one way, then the other. It spirals around a branch, catches a breeze, and takes so long to fall that you nearly forget about it.

Plop.

It lands on your head.

You chuckle and shake yourself.

The leaf flaps.

But stays.

You shake harder.

Still there.

The stem is wedged between two scales!

You spin in a circle. You hop. You roll through the grass, paws waving in the air.

The leaf refuses to budge.

Finally, you race to the pond.

You lean over the water, hoping your reflection will show you how the silly thing is stuck.

Instead, you freeze.

The dragon staring back at you isn’t green.

His scales blaze crimson and orange. His wings glow russet and gold. Even his tail looks like a fallen leaf warmed by afternoon sunlight.

You stare.

The dragon in the pond stares back.

Then the leaf slips free.

It lands softly on the water and floats beside your reflection.

You look at the leaf.

You look at yourself.

And slowly, you smile.

Perhaps Autumn won’t be so bad after all.