The Moss Witch and the Leaf That Wouldn’t Fall

Something was changing Down Whimsy Way.

Nobody had announced it.

There had been no notice pinned outside Mr Tea Toad’s teahouse, no proclamation from the Crow Sisters and certainly no official letter delivered by Mr Bramble.

But the forest knew.

The mornings had begun arriving with a little silver mist between the trees.

Blackberries hung heavy along the hedgerows.

The evenings were drawing their curtains just a little earlier.

And high in an old sycamore tree at the edge of the village, one small leaf had turned gold.

The Moss Witch noticed it immediately.

She noticed most things the forest did.

“Not yet,” she murmured.

The leaf trembled in the breeze.

The Moss Witch lived where the neat little cobbled lane of Down Whimsy Way gave up trying to be sensible and wandered into the woods.

Her cottage was tucked beneath an enormous old tree, with moss on the roof, herbs hanging from the beams and shelves filled with jars containing all manner of things nobody else quite knew what to do with.

She knew which mushrooms appeared after rain.

She knew where the first snowdrops would grow before they had even thought about growing.

And she could tell you exactly when autumn was coming.

Not from a calendar.

From the smell of the earth.

That afternoon, she was gathering herbs when something fluttered past her nose.

A yellow leaf.

Then another.

The Moss Witch frowned.

“Far too soon.”

She gathered them up and tucked them into her basket.

A little further along the path she found three more.

Into the basket they went.

By the time she reached home, she had collected seventeen fallen leaves.

She carefully placed them back beneath the trees.

“There,” she said.

“That’s better.”

The wind blew.

All seventeen fell down again.

The following morning, the Moss Witch woke to find a scattering of gold across her doorstep.

“No, no, no.”

She fetched her broom and swept the leaves back towards the forest.

Five minutes later, the wind returned them.

She swept them away again.

The wind brought more.

By lunchtime, she and the weather were having what could only be described as a disagreement.

The Crow Sisters watched from a nearby branch.

All three tilted their heads.

“What’s she doing?”

“Arguing with autumn.”

“Who do you think will win?”

The sisters considered this.

“Autumn.”

“Definitely autumn.”

“Shall we tell her?”

The three looked at one another.

“No.”

This was much more entertaining.

For the next few days, the Moss Witch became increasingly determined.

She tied green ribbons around branches as encouragement.

She whispered to the ferns that summer wasn’t finished yet.

She even placed a small sign beside her cottage.

AUTUMN — PLEASE RETURN IN SEPTEMBER.

Autumn ignored it.

The blackberries ripened.

The acorns grew rounder.

A spider began constructing an enormous web between two fence posts.

And every morning, another leaf turned gold.

Then orange.

Then red.

The Moss Witch became very quiet.

One evening, the Ancient Whispering Tree called to her.

The Moss Witch stopped beneath its branches.

“You’re early too,” she said.

The great tree rustled.

“I am always here.”

“You know what I mean.”

Another leaf drifted down between them.

The Moss Witch caught it.

It was beautiful.

Green still lingered around its edges, but the centre had turned the colour of honey.

“I like summer,” she said.

The Ancient Whispering Tree said nothing.

“I wasn’t finished with it.”

Still the tree waited.

The Moss Witch looked at the leaf in her hand.

“What if what’s coming isn’t as lovely?”

A breeze moved through the branches.

And somewhere above her, hundreds of leaves whispered together.

The Ancient Whispering Tree finally spoke.

“You do not have to dislike what was to welcome what is coming.”

The Moss Witch looked up.

Another leaf fell.

This time, she let it.

The following morning, something unusual appeared outside the Moss Witch’s cottage.

A little wooden table.

Upon it sat seventeen golden leaves.

A basket of blackberries.

Three acorns.

A jar of cinnamon sticks.

And the very first tiny pumpkin of the season.

Beside them was a new sign.

The Crow Sisters arrived first.

Naturally.

One of them read it aloud.

AUTUMN — YOU MAY COME IN WHEN YOU’RE READY.

The three sisters nodded approvingly.

“Much more sensible.”

“Very welcoming.”

“Do you think there’ll be cake?”

“There had better be.”

From inside the cottage came the Moss Witch’s voice.

“I can hear you.”

The sisters froze.

There was a pause.

“Is there cake?”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

And all three disappeared through the door.

Later that evening, the Moss Witch sat outside her cottage with a warm mug between her hands.

The air was cooler.

She noticed that now.

But she also noticed how lovely the lanterns looked when darkness came a little earlier.

She noticed the smell of damp earth.

The first curl of smoke rising from a chimney in the village.

The golden leaves scattered along the path.

Summer was leaving.

And perhaps that was a little sad.

But something else was arriving.

And that could be beautiful too.

We spend so much of life waiting for things to change.

And then, strangely, when they finally do…

sometimes we want everything to stay exactly as it was.

A child grows older.

A friendship changes.

A chapter ends.

A new one begins.

A dream becomes something different from the one we first imagined.

Even happy changes can carry a little sadness for what we’re leaving behind.

But perhaps we don’t always have to choose between loving what was and welcoming what comes next.

We can do both.

We can be grateful for the summer…

and still light the lantern for autumn.

So if something in your life is changing, perhaps you don’t need to have it all figured out yet.

You don’t even have to be completely ready.

Maybe, for today, it’s enough to loosen your grip just a little.

And let one leaf fall.

Until next Friday’s Forest Fable…

May you treasure the seasons that have passed, find courage for the ones still to come, and always leave a little room for unexpected magic.

With warm wishes,

Becky
The Key Keeper
Down Whimsy Way