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Falling leaves, the floating platforms of such natural moments, take to the air in carefree parachute-glides.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 14, 2020.
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Falling leaves come as the most giving divine moments, anchoring mortal to eternal.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 14, 2020.
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Falling leaves, as gentle boats, ride air waves with confident grace.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 14, 2020.
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Falling leaves as a nature-spun carpet bring the most homey of hues to the land.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 14, 2020.
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The leaves in the wind are like sails without boats, carefree and joyful. Their colours sing to the blue of the sky and the green grass below. I imagine myself as tiny as an ant, riding one. The leaf would feel like paper, yet shine as church glass. My fingers would curl about the edge. Gravity pulling, air pushing and me just along for the ride.

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Falling leaves tumble from the interlocking branches above, branches that grow so thickly only bright gaps of sunshine break through. As autumn marches toward winter there will be only those fine strands of brown in the distance and the sunlight will cascade to the forest floor unhindered.

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The leaves come down like the most outrageously large confetti, everything from vivid scarlet to the colour of soil. They fall as if God had pressed some slow-motion button from the heavens, as if determined to savour the moment as am I. It's rare to see so many come down all at once and I can't think why it should be so. I suck in the deepest breath of the damp loamy air I can and focus on my hearing. I want to hear the moment they come to rest on the forest floor, the newest additions to the every changing mosaic below.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 21, 2015.
General

Falling leaves are the song I dance to in the woodland, the trees caught between beauty and solemn earthy tones. The air has a leaf loam tincture that is absent at other times, giving lady autumn a perfume of her own.