How strange it feels, to contemplate the leaves that fall down from the maple, down, by the window: one of them would fasten onto another tree, the wind would flutter it, but it yet clings to something more strong, and more "eternal"; but falls at last from its branch of refuge... The same happens to a man, who is clutching at his life, which is indeed his fate playing with him like the wind plays with the leaves, so that some fall at once, some in a little while...