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  • The leaf's grasp is weakening. It knows its days are numbered. Ever since the Mother Branch started laying those tiny little cells at the end of its stem, it knew that the end is near. Yet the leaf still hopes. And it clings on, with every fiber in its dry, browned, self.
    Then suddenly, its mortal enemy appears. The gentle breeze.
    It gasps.
    And in a moment, it is over.

    From an amorphous mass of heat and vapor, a little fluff of snowflake emerged. Fresh and starry-eyed, the snowflake leaps onto the first breeze it found!
    What an adventure it is going to be!
    The little snowflake sings and dances with its brothers and sisters. Human faces, most of them filled with wonder and joy, greet the little ones.

    The snowflake's angelic brightness blinded the leaf momentarily, "Is this Hope?"
    The snowflake curiously inspects the intricate fractals on the leaf.
    The breeze waltzes merrily away.
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