A Leaf Falls

Life's autumn past, I stand on winter's verge
- Wordsworth

No definition of a season's change is more dramatic than the shying away of leaves and trees. As the earth tires itself from enriching plant life, the soil pretends to lie dead in its slumber. No human eye can catch sight of the depleting vineyards of roots underground. Do they wilt and dry out turning the once fluid-filled veins into wrinkled clawlike forms, or have they reserved nutrient-filled sacs for the following 2 season's reappearance?

I study a broad leaf's yawning face as it readies itself to sleep. It appears peaceful yet, ready to die. The leaf's expression is melancholy as her disappearing sun-filled smile starts to mourn for its own permanent death. I watch as its eyes become invisible; they are replaced by lids of thin lines and light scratches.

The autumn leaf of red, orange, or gold is ironic in her majestic beauty and impending death. Could there really be beauty in dying?

A leaf always reborns. She resurrects from the very same soil, coming from her kindred roots. She becomes the undifferentiated offspring - the usually green colored foliage - who takes in light's energy. She captures the hearts of birds, while offers her goodness to nourish the living needs of even the tiniest of creatures. And in sync with those same ones around her, she joins in chorus singing and swaying to the conducting symphony of an imperial tree.

And just before they turned red and gold, the autumn leaves remind us that we were shaded from the blinding and unintentional burning sun of summer days. In harmony they once sang in glory while lovers made love under their gleeful watching and sheltering eyes.

Like love itself, a leaf dies only to resurrect again.

But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
-Roger Williams