The Falling Leafs

Fall has always been one of  my favorite seasons. The leaves burst in colors and the trees wrap themselves in a thin scarf of frost. It’s almost as if all summer natures beauty has been bottled up and before winter it explodes in a passion of reds and oranges. The Grand finale before the curtain closes. The tall trees by the ditch put on a good show this year before bundling themselves in their brown winter coats. The leaves were a crisp orange with a yellow tinge as they struggled to stay with their bearer. They all seem to fall at different times and speeds as if trying to fly like the birds. They wish to imitate the birds that leave the nests in the spring, but soon realize they don’t possess the smooth wings to do so.

Every autumn I am reminded of the poem "Come Little Leaves" by George Cooper,

“Come, little leaves said the wind one day

Come to the meadows with me and play

Put on your dresses of red and gold;

For summer is past, and the days grow cold”

Each of them takes a separate journey pushed by the autumn breeze. They are left in different places to be buried under the white blanket on that fateful day in December. Snow seems to bury everything and hide what’s underneath; soon the ditch will be nothing but a place for fallen snowflakes. Then I guess a new story will be written of dancing white faeries and grey skies.