The Maple Leaf.

An old man was sitting on the porch of his house, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a smoking cigarette in the other. It was silent.
A storm was coming, there was no doubt, the ache in the old bones couldn`t be mistaken, and it was so silent and grey, as it always is right before the storm. He loved it. At his age he only had love for three things left – coffee, cigarettes and the beautiful silence before the storm, and now he had all of them at the same time, although doctor had forbidden at least two of them.
He was alone – the town was empty – there was no traffic, there was no sound. The new generation had left the town for bigger cities and the old one had died. There were no friends and no strangers, he was sitting all alone with his coffee and the endless silence.
A bright orange maple leaf floated above the road along his house. The old mans` eyes wide open were looking at the leaf. It was something strange, in the surrounding grayness the bright leaf looked as if it had come from another world. The old mans` heart filled with excitement and joy, feelings he last felt when playing chess with Oliver, about 7 years ago. He tried to think – where it might had come from? There were no maple trees in this town – at least none he could think of. Was it even the right season for maple leaves to turn orange?
He kept his eyes on the leaf that was floating gently down and then up again, depending on the breezes. He felt unexplainable peace every time it went up and then terrible fear every time it went down. As if leafs` life would depend on staying in the air. OH NO! He gasped when the leaf floated only few inches above the ground, but then it got pushed upwards again. He couldn`t think of any reasonable action he should do – should he try to catch the leaf? Or maybe let it float and hope it`ll never fall? The storm wasnt far anymore. You could feel it in the air.
It seemed that the leaf was heading up, above his house, when suddenly a wind came and blew it crashing into the ground. A silent gasp came from the mans` lips and there was a sound of breaking glass. Thunder clapped and small raindrops started to fall on the ground.
An old man was lying on the porch of his house, a broken cup of coffee was next to him and a smoking cigarette butt in his hand. His heart was silent.
Noone is gonna water Elmers` flowers anymore.

Good general background combined with focus on detail. Not easy to do. Great sensitivity. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
Look forward to more.
Best regards
M.

An elegant little story - although I did guess the significance of the leaf quite early on in the story (as soon as you let slip there were no maple trees nearby - but I suppose that was your intention, to invite the reader to surmise the outcome). The closing line was also neatly done.

H

Thanks for the critique guys. You just totally made my day!

Nice, neat, well done.

I like this piece, but it would be nice to see some metaphor.

This actually reminds me of a poem by Carl Sandburg, though I can't entirely remember which one it was. But still, I couldn't help but read to the very end, which is saying something, seeing as I don't have the patience to read stories to the end unless they thoroughly hold my interest. As the leaf fell and lifted up again, the ending became a little predictable, but then again, I was surprised by it. Good work.

I wonder which poem was it. Would like to see it.

I liked it, and was curious about what poem too

Maybe this one? (though there are many I have never read)

UNDER THE HARVEST MOON

UNDER the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.