[Adelie]

A learf blows through the wind. It's a really strong wind, okay? Like yeah, they weigh seven kilograms at the very lightest, but you can't just underestimate the power of a good ol' fall bluster. If these things can bring down power lines and start fires, then they can carry a leaf-puppy-thingamajig just fine.

There are other leaves on the wind, of course, but they're mostly burnt orange, brown, red - actual leaves, leaf-shaped and leaf-sized, flipping around in the air playfully with all the mood and muster of a fine autumn day. There's a bit of floating litter, too, and the slightest hint of distant chatter from two picnic-goers who seem like the most likely culprits behind the windswept garbage.

But this isn't a story about the leaves, of course. If you wanted leaves, you could pick any ordinary autumn day, any ordinary place, any ordinary wind. If you wanted leaves, you shouldn't even be here. Can't you read the title?

No, this is a story about a lea(r)f, on the wind.

[Adelie]

Two picnic-goers are sitting in the wind, and judging by their chatter - or rather, cries - they are not particularly pleased about this turn of events. Why did we decide to do this today, one of them says. If I were any lighter, I think I'd have blown away by now.

Good thing your ass is so fat, the other one says, and then their companion slaps them on the back - since the aforementioned fat ass is currently sitting on their picnic blanket - and their words dissolve into a shower of laughter and stupidity.

A learf blows by in the wind, tumbling and twisting in an elaborate dance of its very own. Briefly, the wind seems to lull, and the learf seems about to float to the ground - but a quick gust quickly picks it back up again just in time to bring it directly through the picnic-goers' spread.

In the instant it passes by, the learf sticks out its tongue and snags a bite out of their fruit salad.

The picnic-goers have nothing to say to that. Not right now, at least. Perhaps they'll have words when they've recovered from the shock of it all - but by the time that happens, the learf will be long gone.

[Adelie]

A man with a grumpy expression on his face is standing in the wind, one hand shoved in the pocket of his puffy winter jacket, the other pressing a cell phone to his ear.

Unlike the picnic-goers, he is silent. Like the picnic-goers, the person on the other end of the phone line is expressing his opinions with great gusto. If you listen closely, you might catch words or phrases - I swear, spoken fondly, punctuated with a faint burst of static. You're way too stubborn for your own good, Mirny.

He might've wanted to respond. People tend to do that when their best friend tells them unfortunate truths about their lives in an affectionate yet cutting tone. Unfortunately, he had no chance to because right that moment -

A learf blew by on the wind, and whatever thought he had in mind was interrupted with a sudden exclamation of, Is that a flying learf?

What's so exciting about a flying leaf? said the voice on the other end of the line.

A learf, he responded, staring off into the distance after the still-floating figure of the learf in the breeze. Geez, you never listen.

And neither do you, his friend says, just as fond as always.

[Adelie]

A black cat sits neatly on the park ground; she has intelligently positioned herself between the crook of two exposed tree root systems so that the whistling wind barely ruffles her fur. Still, it's there. Wind is omnipresent.

She is watching the park from her vantage point, as cats are wont to do. It makes you wonder - what is going on inside that head of hers? Is she thinking about mice, or about the sparkle of sun on a freshly fallen leaf, or about something bigger and brighter than this park itself? Is she thinking anything at all?

But of course, cats are unreadable. It's just an accepted fact of their existence, like how cats are nocturnal, are lactose intolerant, are liquid.

Still, there is one moment where the facade breaks. As a learf blows by on the wind, she leaps back with a surprised yowl - and it's clear that right now, she's wondering what exactly is going on.

[Adelie]

A man stands behind his taco truck, shivering in the wind. Occasionally, the breeze briefly pauses its quest to turn him into a popsicle and instead brings with it the gentle, wafting smell of carnitas and warm tortillas.

Business isn't particularly good today, but that's more a function of the weather keeping most people at home than an opinion on the quality of his goods. His sale rate is excellent. A good 80% of the people who have walked by decide to purchase something from him, lured in by the promise of warm food and a cup of horchata to warm the fingertips.

That, in itself, is probably another function of the weather - so in the end, he's both happy for and disappointed in this cold, windy weather. He's about to wonder what else the weather will bring him today when the wind answers his question for him.

There is a learf, floating merrily along in the wind. He has a brief moment of shock - did the learf just stick its tongue out at him? - before it blows away onto the distant horizon.

A couple runs over, panting, and stops in front of the taco truck. Hey, maybe we should stop trying to get our fruit salad back, one of them says. It's probably digested by now.

Tacos sound good, the other one says. The taco truck driver thanks the weather for good fortune.

[Adelie]

Two siblings are standing in the wind. Wait, no, one of them has flopped down onto a nearby park bench with all the dramatics of a high school theatre kid reenacting Macbeth's tragic demise.

Two siblings are chatting in the wind, one standing and one sitting. Well, it certainly used to be chatting, but now it seems to have escalated into something greater than that. There is an entire conversation going on in flamboyant gestures alone.

Two siblings are interacting in the wind. Were interacting, at least, since now one of them seems absolutely determined to pretend that the other doesn't even exist. The other attempts to grab their attention a few times through increasingly elaborate methods, and finally resolves to mimic their sibling's denial.

A learf blows by, carried by the wind to wherever it's going. The siblings don't even notice.

[Adelie]

A tall figure looms ominously in the wind, looking like something out of another genre - a spy from a thriller flick, perhaps, or the villainous serial killer only seen in glimpses and flashbacks in an arthouse horror film.

It certainly doesn't look human, that's for sure. Maybe some poor approximation of a human created by aliens who had only observed humanity through grainy surveillance camera footage and come up with what appeared to be a trenchcoat with lumps instead of appendages. If you looked closely, you might catch one of them wiggling.

If you listened closely, you might catch one of them talking. Hey, the left-side lump said. Are we done yet? My shoulder is getting kind of sore.

Shh! the uppermost lump squeaks. I don't see him yet!

Well, I can't see anything, the bottommost lump responds. But I can smell your stinky feet from here. There is the faint sound of scuffling, some ruffled feathers, and the lumps trade positions a few times.

A learf blows by on the wind. It is not the strangest thing in this scene.

[Adelie]

A man sits in his car, sheltered safely away from the wind. His window is rolled down, though, and the faint red tinge on his nose and cheeks seems to suggest that he is not entirely free from worrying about winter's bite.

He's got a notebook in one hand and a pencil in another - although it frequently makes trips to his mouth to be nibbled on, as if wood shavings and paint is an essential food group. On the notebook, there's a number of sketches. Mostly quick sketches of people walking by, bundled up in scarves and winter coats and sweaters, drawn in bold stylistic strokes more reminiscent of fashion sketches than real life.

There's one sketch that doesn't fit with the rest, though. Upon first glance it appears to be a blob - maybe a tumbleweed? There's certainly enough squiggly lines around it to suggest some kind of rolling in the wind. Further glances unroll the lines into a tail, some paws, a tongue and the hint of fluffy fur - a learf.

There are two learves, blowing in the wind. One lives on paper; the other lives in real life.

[Adelie]

There is a girl standing in the wind, totally underdressed for an autumn day in the park. Actually, it was more like she was underdressed for an autumn day anywhere, considering that her outfit consisted of some one-piece sequined monstrosity and a floppy sunhat the size of a large pizza.

Half the park was looking at her, and the other half was averting their gaze in an attempt to pretend that such an eyesore didn't exist. She didn't seem to mind at all; she didn't even seem to notice. She was far too preoccupied with the camera phone in her hand, and whatever her video feed was connected to. Next up, we're going to be performing a social experiment, she says, but whatever she's about to say suddenly flies out of her mind as a learf flies by on the wind.

Okay, maybe I'm the one experiencing a social experiment, she says, eyes still following the retreating figure of the learf. I don't think anything I can do today can top that, but I guess I'll try. Anything for art, after all.

[Adelie]

A learf blows through the wind. For some, this is shocking, even miraculous. Perhaps they'll see it written up on a tabloid tomorrow, a headline about flying learves nestled between sightings of lizard people at this year's Festival of the Golden Thread and the newest speculation about how Basantha Shrine was actually constructed in reverence to crystal space aliens.

For others, this is everyday, a mere typo on the cosmic typewriter. They might look up, they might sigh in exasperation at the ridiculous things the world was up to today, but they would simply mark it down as yet another entry in the journal of their existence.

For the learf, it is an adventure. Where did it come from? Where will it go?

Only the wind knows.

[Wild Pet Found]