You know that song that goes "listen to the rhythm of the falling rain," today, that song made me think of fall leaves. The crunch of them underfoot. The rustle of their dry bodies in a breeze. The way they hypnotize as they float and swirl in the air. By now I usually have picked out my favorite fall tree and buried myself in a leaf pile. But the trees are reluctant to give up their leafy bits this year. So far I have seen hardly any color other than green and there has been nothing to crunch. I am a bit disappointed.
But it got me thinking, do leaves spend as much time thinking about us as we do them? Yes, yes, I know, leaves don't throw tea parties and they aren't sentient, but just go with me here. This is what watching years of Disney films does to ones imaginations. What must it be like to be a leaf? Do they have a silent commentary on our fashion choices as the Spring and Summer progress? Do they wait with bated leafy breath to see us in our Easter finery or to see just how much skin we will bare in the summer? Do they laugh when the skin of summer suddenly disappears with the mufflers, jeans, coats and galoshes of fall? Which season is their favorite?
Imagine. You spend all winter curled up for a nice nap inside your tree. You hear the wind howl and feel the beat of the rain on the trunk, but you are nice and warm. You dream of emerging out into the world and seeing your shape for the first time, seeing the world for the first time. Then one day the warmth of spring begins to thaw your woody host and suddenly you feel jittery in a way that you haven't ever felt before. You wake up from your long winter nap and push your way out into the light. You unfurl and drink in that warm golden sunshine. You turn your face up to the heavens and work on establishing your green leafy tan. You feel rain for the first time and twist and turn your veins to watch the water run off. You rustle and laugh when a summer breeze tickles you. You watch with rapt attention as a parade of insects use you as either a superhighway or buffet. You sing lullabies into the wind.
All too soon your days start to get colder and you plan your last hurrah. What color will you be? Where will you fly off too to spend your final days? When the time comes you burst forth into a beautiful riot of color. You tell the story of your life in deep ochre's and vermillion. Bright goldenrod or scarlet. Each of your leafy compatriots is different and chooses its own color pallet. You ooh and ahh over the new sights and together you make your tree host look like it is on fire. The last celebration of your leafy life.
Then one day a breeze detaches you from your tree and you float. You are carried past the corner shops that you waved at all year and down the road. You always wondered where it went. You twist and twirl in the eddies and fly higher than you have ever known. If you are a very lucky leaf, you settle down in a yard where someone is collecting a leaf bouquet. You land on a soft carpet of lawn and are scooped up again and brought into a house. You meet other leaves from distant areas. You talk of your experiences and comment on each others colors. You are placed in a jar with a ribbon and get to experience life indoors for a while. You watch morning routines and after dinner relaxation. You are warm again and lazily dream about what it felt like to be outside.
Before you start to get overly brittle and crack, a woman selects you and puts you in-between some sheets of plastic and seals you into them. You are kept in a book and taken out every now and then as a reminder of that special fall. You are not as active as you used to be and sometimes you miss the feel of wind and the smell of autumn spices, but you are happy. You are an eternal October leaf and life couldn't get much better.
This is my next challenge to you. When the leaves finally change, go and find a beautiful tree to sit under. Talk to the leaves or at least listen to what they have to say. Lay under the tree and watch as the leaves fall all around you. Close your eyes and listen to them rustle above you and crunch below you. Play in a leaf pile. Make a leaf bouquet. Press some into a book as a reminder. Above all, take time to stop and enjoy the vibrant display that is going on just for you. You won't be disappointed.
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