The street itself was a ballroom. Dancers swayed within its measure, pirouetting through the wind, pivoting around the air, and swaying in the embrace of each other. Hundreds of colorful ballerinas twirled as if soaking up the beauty of their last recital. They welcomed the soft hands of Death that we call gravity, enticing Him to watch the play unfold. They covered the ground together, one after another; the symbol of picturesque unity, painting the gray pavement in hues of vibrant orange and red and yellow.
I stared, wishing the laws of nature weren’t so cemented—wishing the world was a snow globe just so these beautiful things could dance their way back up to life.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t tread over the masterpiece before me.
I didn’t even want to acknowledge it was there at all. In fact, I wish it wasn’t.
Because to acknowledge the fallen leaves that lay in front of me meant I had to first acknowledge the reason they had fallen. It wasn’t by a whim they had all littered the earth's floor. Some biological clock that ticked within these great trees had gone off, signaling the coming of a cold, barren season.
It was the beginning of the end of the colorful trees of fall.
It was the beginning of the end of Autumn itself.
I had never wished to turn back time as much as I did then. I wasn’t ready to watch the life around me disappear. Fall had been so bright, so inspiring, so kind to me this year. How could I ever wish to trade something so special for the wasteland I knew was arriving on the doorstep?
I felt winter lurk behind those trees like a pillar of impending doom. Soon, my beautifully painted trees would become empty houses. Soon, the chilled warmth of my air would become icy and unfamiliar. I wasn’t ready then.
Is it foolish of me to fear something that occurs each year? Afterall, winter is as much of a natural phenomenon as fall is. Yet, there’s a darkness to winter that I can’t escape from. With every leaf that I crunch under my treading feet, I feel the pull of Winter’s demanding embrace. I feel its fingers play with the ends of my hair and the tip of my face, turning my nose and ears pink and freezing my motivation.
Even now, I watch as more dancers retire from their woody perch. Goosebumps cover my skin, as I realize how lucky I am to understand the choreography of this ultimate performance. It might be one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. I feel one land on my shoulder, its balancing stems keeping it from joining the others. It whispers comfort into my ear before a gentle gust of wind has it swaying onto the ground. It's like a missing puzzle piece, the way it connects with its other fallen peers.
It almost looks like snow, falling from the trees the way snow tends to do.
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