The perfect combination of decay and gale has produced a performance outside my window. The way the light hits the tree makes it seem to be gliding down some thoroughfare, like a float in a parade or a sailboat gliding toward the sun. The path of the street is filled with the celebration of leaves that are currently falling from the sky like confetti. It makes me wonder how long the tree has been here, and how many people have witnessed its brilliance on a day like today. Too often I only notice trees are bare when there is a sufficient quantity of crunchy leaves carpeting the sidewalk or clogging the storm drains, which lead me to look up and wonder “when did that happen?”
I have opened the window up wide so I can hear the leaves rustle, smell the air, and feel the cold on my fingers. I love watching cars and especially big noisy trucks, race down the street, kicking up a trail of leaves behind them that then scuttle back down to the ground to rest (but only momentarily). The way the fullness of the tree lurches it looks like a bunch of green grapes, slowly being picked off. It is incredible the trees aren’t bare yet as the abundance of leaves falling is grand and unrelenting.
The traveling leaves: I can see them in the distance floating and dispersing beyond the neighbourhood. It’s strange to think the leaves outside my apartment could have moved themselves so far away that I might come across one, dried up and leathery in Yaletown or Cole Harbour, and not know it’s the same leaf that has lived with me for three months.
Featured Image Credit: Jackson Pollock, Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 1950