A little girl put on her coat and went to the park. She sat under a tree and read her book. It was a fine day. IT was. IT was a fine tree, too, that grew over the girl as she read her book. After some time, she got sleepy and lay back under the tree. She looked up into its branches and saw all the movement, all the spaces that were happening there. She became very small and floated up into the branches of the tree, past many leaves, brushing them with her fingers as she passed. She kept rising and rising until she came out at the top of the tree. The sun was shining over all the tree top and the leaves were a green, undulating ocean. She clung to one of the top leaves, but then it pulled loose in the breeze and away she blew, holding on to the leaf. She rode along on the breeze, which lifted her up and up into the sky. She could see all of the little town she lived in, the trees and the houses, the church with its high pointed spire, and the streets, all meeting at the great circle in the center of town. Far below her, she could see the lake in the park, flashing white sails dotting its surface. She could see the hills, covered with trees, that surrounded the town, and farther off still, the mountains, purple in the distance. And in the other direction, she could see a blazing gleam on the horizon that she knew must be the sea. Then she began floating downward, still holding on to her leaf. She went floating over the house tops, looking down the chimneys, and over the backyards, laundry blowing in the same breeze that carried her along. Finally the leaf blew into her own backyard and she was wafted into the window of her own house. The leaf came to rest on her big, soft easy chair. Slowly, she got up out of the chair. She thought some tea would be very nice just now. She looked in the mirror over the fireplace as she passed, and smiled. She put her hands to her soft, dry cheeks for a moment, and thought how satisfying it was to be old.