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Gatekeeper 084457

Esmeralda, known as Esme, is an elderly woman with a talent for predicting the weather through a single crimson leaf on an oak tree. On a day filled with anticipation, she shares her wisdom with her young grandson Leo, explaining that the leaf waits for the right moment to fall. As the leaf finally drops into Leo's hand, snow begins to fall, confirming Esme's uncanny ability to sense the change in the weather.

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39 views2 pages

Gatekeeper 084457

Esmeralda, known as Esme, is an elderly woman with a talent for predicting the weather through a single crimson leaf on an oak tree. On a day filled with anticipation, she shares her wisdom with her young grandson Leo, explaining that the leaf waits for the right moment to fall. As the leaf finally drops into Leo's hand, snow begins to fall, confirming Esme's uncanny ability to sense the change in the weather.

Uploaded by

caranaysheldonglenn
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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The old woman sat on the park bench, a splash of vibrant purple against the muted

greens and browns of autumn. Her name was Esmeralda, though everyone called her
Esme, and she was known for two things: her flamboyant hats and her uncanny ability
to predict the weather. Not with barometers or fancy apps, but with the rustle of the
single, crimson leaf that hung precariously from the ancient oak tree beside her.

Today, the leaf hung still, a silent sentinel against the grey sky. Esme, however, was not
still. She fidgeted, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the worn wooden handle
of her cane. She’d been feeling it all morning, a strange tingling in her bones, a whisper
of change on the wind. It wasn't the usual shift from sunny to cloudy, or the gentle
nudge towards a cool evening. This was different. This felt…charged.

A young boy, no more than seven, with a shock of unruly red hair, stopped in front of
her. "Grandma Esme," he said, his voice full of the breathless wonder only a child can
possess, "is the leaf going to fall?"

Esme smiled, her wrinkled face crinkling around her bright, knowing eyes. "Not yet,
Leo," she said, her voice a low, soothing hum. "The leaf is waiting. It's waiting for the
right moment."

Leo plopped down on the ground beside her, his gaze fixed on the crimson leaf. "What's
the right moment?" he asked.

Esme chuckled. "That's the secret, little one. The leaf knows. It feels the shift in the
world, the subtle change in the air. It listens to the whispers of the wind and the secrets
of the earth."

As if on cue, a sudden gust of wind whipped through the park, scattering fallen leaves
and swirling dust devils in its wake. The crimson leaf danced, twirling and swaying, but
still it clung to its branch. Leo gasped, his eyes wide with excitement.
Esme closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, listening to its wild song. And then,
she knew. The tingling in her bones intensified, the whisper on the wind became a clear
message.

She opened her eyes just as the wind died down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake.
The crimson leaf, finally released from its hold, fluttered down, landing gently on Leo’s
outstretched hand.

"Now," Esme said, a hint of awe in her voice, "now it's going to snow."

Leo looked at the leaf, then at the sky, which was still stubbornly grey. "Snow?" he
asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

Esme just smiled. "The leaf knows," she repeated softly.

And she was right. Within the hour, fat, fluffy snowflakes began to fall, transforming the
park into a winter wonderland. Leo, his face alight with joy, looked at Esme, his eyes
filled with wonder. "You knew," he whispered.

Esme winked. "The leaf told me," she said, and adjusted her purple hat, ready for the
magic of the snow.

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