A black and white kitten, just grown up, sat in the middle of a pile of autumn leaves as if it had just emerged from it. His eyes, which are round, curious, still full of that first wonder, looked at the red leaf that he held as the greatest treasure. He didn't bite it because he was hungry. The paper was his discovery of the day.
As he held the leaf between his paws, he seemed to be keeping some little secret. As if that little piece of autumn carried a message that only he could understand. The wind rustled around him and the branches cracked softly, the leaves spun as if they were dancing just for him.
Looking at the little kitten, I felt a kind of warmth in my chest. It's the kind of warmth you feel when you remember what it's like to be small, completely lost in a moment, with no worries, no goals, just a relaxed play. The kitten wasn't thinking about the coming winter. He wasn't even thinking about the leaves disappearing tomorrow.
And while watching that scene, I realized that maybe we all carry such a carefree little kitten inside us. That little, playful, naive being who wants to keep something beautiful, even if it's just a rustling red leaf. Maybe sometimes we too are just trying to save that moment before the wind blows it away.
And the kitten was still holding its leaf as if it wanted to preserve the last vestige of autumn. His paws were gentle but firm. As if to say: "This is mine. My first sheet. My little piece of the world." At that moment, it seemed to me that the world could really fit into two paws and one autumn leaf.