When I went to my grandson's band concert, the middle school doors were locked. Fifteen minutes didn't seem too early before the music was to start, so those of us clustered around the doors figured that someone with a key either left it home or in their pocket and forgot about it.
I found something fascinating.
These leaves on a bench wouldn't brush off. Had they been drawn on with marker? Had some wildlife artist printed them on as part of a botany learning program? Were they part of the original bench decor?
Interestingly enough, the section of bench beneath the tree branches was marked with leaves, while the part exposed to sunlight was plain.
There was even one whole bench free of any shade above it that had no leaf shapes at all.
I didn't check with plant experts, but to my way of thinking, the leaves that fluttered down to the pink bench left their mark before rotting away.
It's like writing books! Even after authors die, their words are left behind for others to see.
What is it that you want to be known for?