Some stories arrive loud and clear. Others drift in softly, like a leaf on the wind—unexpected, gentle, quietly powerful. For acclaimed author-illustrator Kelly Canby, A Leaf Called Greaf began not with a plan, but with a feeling. A single curled autumn leaf, picked up on an evening walk, became the starting point for Bear’s tender journey through change, connection, and the quiet complexities of grief.

In this heartfelt Q&A, Kelly shares the deeply personal and intuitive process behind A Leaf Called Greaf—from the moment inspiration struck in her kitchen, to the soft pastel illustrations that chart the emotional rhythm of the seasons. She speaks with honesty and warmth about metaphor, mood, and the strange ache of loss, offering readers of all ages a story that doesn’t seek to explain grief, but rather to hold space for it.

Join us as we sit down with Kelly Canby to explore how a simple leaf, a character called Bear, and a made-up word became a gentle, resonant story for children, families, and anyone navigating the quiet shape of sorrow.

What inspired you to tell this story through the simple yet powerful relationship between Bear and Greaf?

With Greaf, I wasn’t chasing a theme or writing toward a lesson. I was following an idea. A feeling. On an autumn evening walk, I picked up a dried, brown leaf off the ground. It was curled and crusty and quietly beautiful. I carried it home, put it on the kitchen counter, and started making dinner. Then, somewhere between chopping garlic and stirring the sauce a story started to form in my head. I kept looking over and thinking about the leaf. How it had once been green and lush which got me thinking about the cycle of life. I scribbled some notes on a brown paper bag and at some point, Bear wandered into the idea. I was already beginning to think of this as a potential manuscript, so I needed a character. One who felt soft and lovable, someone you’d instantly want to sit beside. Bear just made absolute sense.

That’s when the relationship started to matter. I loved the idea of this big, bold creature holding something so small and delicate. That quiet contrast between Bear and Greaf said so much about care and connection. Bear doesn’t understand the leaf he called Greaf, not fully. He just knows it makes him feel something. That felt like the truest way to explore grief, through a bond that’s strange, comforting, and quietly transformative. Something you can’t explain, but you hold onto anyway.

The leaf, named Greaf, is such a unique and poignant metaphor. How did you come to choose a leaf to represent grief, and how did you go about naming it 'Greaf'?

There was something very symbolic about it, this brittle, once-lush thing I’d brought home, and I wondered about its journey. A leaf is such an ordinary part of nature, but when you stop and notice it, it becomes extraordinary. It carries beauty, decay, and memory. The one in my kitchen had lived an entire life. That’s what got my brain ticking. The name came later, almost accidentally, actually. I was writing some early notes (on that brown paper bag) and mashed “grief” and “leaf” together without meaning to. Then I had a huge a-ha moment while running my fingers over the crackly texture of the leaf and wrote “he had never felt Greaf like this before”. That was when I knew I had something meaningful and worth exploring.

Your illustrations bring such warmth and tenderness to Bear’s emotional journey. Can you tell us about your artistic process, how you visually balanced sorrow with hope across the changing seasons?

Gosh. I’m not entirely sure I made conscious decisions around balancing sorrow with hope, but I can see it’s there, now that you point it out. I was simply thinking about mood. A softness. A quiet (except for those moments that needed to be fast, like when the wind blew). On some spreads I wanted to show how huge the world must have felt to Bear with its wide-open landscapes and on other spreads I wanted the reader to see only Bear because his expressions say so much about how he is feeling. I chose to illustrate this book in soft pastel because it had…a softness. And that softness helped in showing the changing landscape around Bear and gently move the emotional tone forward: the cool still of Autumn, the grey weight of winter, the tentative hope of spring. It’s important to me that every piece of whatever book I am making at the time, carries its weight and plays its part in telling a whole, bigger, story. So, I drew what the words made me feel. 

This story speaks to children and adults alike, offering comfort in moments of loss. What do you hope families and educators take away from reading ‘A Leaf Called Greaf’ together?

I hope Greaf gives people permission to sit with big feelings, without needing to fix them. To pause. To be quiet. To let something be both sad and beautiful at the same time. For kids, I hope it’s a safe place to recognise that strange ache they might not have words for. For adults, I hope it’s a reminder that grief doesn’t have to roar. Sometimes, it arrives as a whisper. A moment. A leaf. More than anything, I hope it feels like a hug. A gentle hand in yours. A small bear-shaped reminder that you’re not alone, and that healing can happen slowly, quietly, in its own time.