FALL LEAVES 

They aren’t quite dead when they separate from their branches. Their chlorophyll blood will take a few more days to dry up completely. They will fall slowly to the ground, and join the others. Romantic and photogenic as it may seem, this is really the most tragic season in the life of plants; not even Flora, their goddess, can help.

A sidewalk lined with fallen leaves is not, as one may think, a nursing home for elderly leaves to gather and reminisce about the old times, and soften the path for kid’s bikes and old people’s walkers.

Let’s imagine life from the viewpoint of, say, a sycamore leaf. We’ll call it Sy. Fall has started one week ago, and Sy begins to turn yellow, then light orange. A few more days and now it hangs to the tree by a thread. Finally, a vigorous gust of wind sends it airborne. So it flies for a while and, horror of horrors, lands on a pile of dead, decomposing leaves. Sy remains there for three long days. When another gust of wind finally blows Sy away from that ghostly site, it also places it a long distance from its mother, the tree, which in turn feels lonely and exposed, as it becomes a skeleton.

At this moment, when the end is coming, being close to a loving mother would make a big difference. But as the days go by, Sly gets blown farther and farther away from the tree, to the other side of a hill, where it can no longer see its mother’s balding canopy.

This new knowledge should not keep you, reader, from enjoying the beautiful foliage of fall. It just goes to show that tragedy is, sometimes, painted with glorious colors.