It's not leaves, it's the sound of little pajama feet moving across the floor. Carrying a robot, believing in Santa and the goodness of people.
The wind blows toys across the room. It refuses to clean. It's a force of nature so it builds by destroying. It will take take five years to convince him to use the toy box.
It's a terrible task you know, taming the wind. I'd like to just leave him be, but once you've clean shit of a bathroom wall, you accept that even storms must be potty trained.
Photo: tree taken with my iPhone 4S and on board camera app