Wind’s fingertips guide falling leaves to their place in the season’s picture book. There they flutter, there they chatter, structured yet with organic grace. Days may wane and come again, rain may fall to gloss and soak. Still more leaves rain each moment, adding to the earthen story, gaining their final act of humble glory in the autumntide. And so to fall is not their folly, neither is it sadness with serenity, yet journey’s end well met with arboreal tranquility. 

September 2026

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Falling leaves land with a crackle, heavier than in a ‘once upon a time’ fairy dream. For as the fall weather accelerates this day, the wind has withered to barely-breeze. Down they come as elevators, no slowing cords, no need for doors. Each sits exactly where it fell, a structured hand of once living veins and wax-glossed greenery. Weeks ago it turned light to sugar. Weeks ago it spun out fresh oxygen so freely. All around its brethren drop with a crackle and a festive crunch, together a transitory carpet for soles striding these autumn pathways.

September 2026.

 

Leaves as great golden butterfly wings spin, spin and spiral to autumn’s grass. Amid the long wands and poppy blooms, embracing the windy gusts to fly their last. At times one catches a current as a patient air-surfer, tumbling with a tickling-whisper. As more of the canopy tumbles, as it leaves arboreal arms, I see it as the natural clock, the count-down to Winter’’s charms.

September 2026.

 

My God, the leaves. The fall leaves. The rain-dropped platters of hearthen-hue that fall into the unseen cushion of air, supported as they glide, then rest as one mosaic tile in uncountable-many. Colours as nature's smiles. Together one artist. Each one a masterpiece.

March 13, 2023.

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