This is Lenny. He was a bright, joyful orange leaf living high up on a very tall maple tree named Kauri. Lenny loved the wind and the sun, but he had one big, booming problem.

"HEY! DID YOU SEE THAT ACORN?!" Lenny would shout, rustling and rattling louder than all the other leaves combined. He interrupted conversations, he shouted across branches, and he made a big, noisy fuss.

The small brown squirrel, Rustle, would chatter sadly, "It's too loud to bury my nuts!" And the blue bird, Alto, would try to sing a sweet morning song, but had to stop, covering her ears with a tiny wing.

Everyone in the canopy called him "the loud leaf on Maple Street." Lenny knew it, and it made him feel a little lonely. But the loudness felt safe. If he was loud, he knew everyone saw him.

Last autumn, when the big wind came, Lenny was knocked off too soon. It was a fast, scary tumble! Ever since he returned in the spring, he decided he would *never* be missed again. Loudness was his armor.

One quiet afternoon, Lenny was having a very loud monologue when he heard two small, green leaves, Pip and Whisper, talking quietly nearby. They didn't know he was listening.

"Maybe Lenny doesn't want to be annoying," whispered Pip. "Maybe," said Whisper, "he's just scared." For the first time, someone had looked past the noise and seen the truth.

Lenny's heart, which was really just his waxy center, softened. He decided to try something new. Not to be quiet all the time—he was still Lenny!—but to be *thoughtful*.

He practiced small changes: taking a turn in a branch conversation, rustling gently to say hello, and listening to Alto's songs instead of shouting over them. He still slipped sometimes, of course.

By the end of the season, Kauri felt more peaceful. Lenny discovered he didn't need to be loud to be seen. He just needed to be himself—kindly. And that bright, true orange color was loud enough, all on its own.