Hazel Eyes

Michael loved his collection. He laid some out on the table and stared. So many memories, so many varieties. He placed his fingers lightly upon them. Oak, Sycamore, Ash, Elm, Willow and many, many rarer ones. Each with a small paragraph written on the back that detailed where and when he had picked or found it, the variety, its taxonomy and importantly how he was feeling. He picked up the 'Madeline Spitta' and rubbed his finger across the veins of the leaf. 

This was the one that he had hoped would make things right. A leaf that bore his wife's name, but she had never shared his hobby, never shared his passion for Folium at all. In fact, in then end, she had left him and his collection for another man blaming his obsession. 

He closed his eyes at the pain of the memory and turned slowly. Sitting in the chair by the window, her hair lit by the sunlight, and looking at him with a smile on her face that made her green eyes dance was Hazel from the garden centre. 

He looked at the leaf he had chosen that morning, a leaf from a tree that bore her name and smiled. Tomorrow was the first day of a New Year, tomorrow he was turning over a new leaf.