Autumn Leaves

Autumn’s leaves

Another orange leaf drifts slowly to the ground joining the limitless carpet covering the thick underbrush. Then, another one, with a deep red tint this time.  Miriam closes her book takes a step towards the leaf. The older dried out leaves crackle under her feet reminding her of the campfires of her childhood.  She cringes.  The glen has always been shrine and silence is essential during her pilgrimage.  There is a special kind of perfection in a place so un-groomed. It is completely unspoiled except for the leaves, which keep falling disturbing her peace.  She quickly sits down on a rock abandoning the leaf that has already been covered by dozens of others.  Another year gone by.  What else was there to be said: every year it’s the same.  This had been their place once.  It held so many warm memories, but like the underbrush they had all dried out and been covered by the fresher leafs in Miriam’s story. The ink had dried and now as in every year she found herself back in this place where it al began, reliving the story.  Knowing the ending would be the same but still unable to resist the call.  The warm sunlight gradually filtering through the canopy tickles her face.  Another year gone by: what had she achieved? There never were any more stories after that fateful autumn. She stares at forest floor gradually becoming thicker and thicker.  Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should have let it all go while she had the chance.   She could do something else…. a designer or a painter.  She can’t help but hope though.  She reminds herself for the hundredth time that if we believe in something strongly enough we can make it exist.  How could she have known that the best ending of all time wouldn’t not worth the pain of losing him again, that nothing would be worth fearing her the power of her own mind.  The leaves of autumn would wither away soon enough and the underbrush would gradually rejoin the earth but this exact scene would reappear next year.  The seasons live on the season keep spinning so why can’t we.  Why couldn’t he? It WASN’T HIS TIME she feels screaming but then there’s a rustle as a leaf falls and she remembers the silence.  The necessity for an atmosphere completely still, as though maybe she could preserve the moment when she entered the grove for the first time. The hope that she knew imagined him vividly enough for her fluid pen to revive him.  The autobiography was a mistake she thinks as she stares at the leaves, which keep falling. Each leaf makes her shudder: this is her place this is her time how dare time interfere with her sacred ritual. Time had already forced her to take him time isn’t allowed to take this away from her.  This is her day.  The leaves are all wrong for the moment. It’s all happening too fast. The leaves aren’t ALLLOWED to fall for at least another month. They CANT fall she decides suddenly. They CANT fall. I WONT LET THEM FALL!! And with that the spell is broken.  She jumps to her feet and with a scream of pure anguish she jumps up and down crackling all the golden leaves transforming the campfire of her childhood into the wild fire running rampant in her heart.  She doesn’t stop until the underbrush is visible beneath the fiery confetti. 

            The problem has always been the only year the leaves stood still was the one she sat here with him beneath the trees.  You see no matter how many times she tells herself that the grove is unchanged, that each year she preserves the moment by rereading and reliving.  The stubborn leaves remind her that it is too late.  A new autumn comes every year, and the autumn she clings to will never return.  The magic has been broken and no matter how hard she begs the leaves to stand still the seasons change and leaves fall.  One after the other.  Another orange one rejoining the endless carpet.