The leaf, as it lays dreaming on the forest floor, going through a slow dry dying, sees into the infinite for one brief moment. From afar and outside of time, the leaf sees the curl of the phylogon it occupies, where this phylogon fits into a larger cycle, how the cycle is turning away from this phylogon (death approaching), and the leaf is struck mostly by the precious balance, the downright precarious position that the green (life!) is held in. He marvels at how narrow a space is allowed in the flow for something green to come into being and how the amount given to the green can really not be compared to the vastness of everything else that is not green.
"This phylogon engine is good," smiles the programmer replaying the leaf's insight to himself. He's happier now at work than on any trip he ever took.