On being Fallen
Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”
Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”
Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when Spring came she waked again–and she was a blade of grass.
And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams.”
Walking from home to office, with a brown leather jacket and muffler around my neck to stop the wind from freezing me, I see the colour of the leaves on the Maple change from green to yellow to dark red. Slowly the Maple sheds its leaves, a trivial attempt of covering the green lawn with redness, a symbol of burning passion.
I see that there is no sun in the sky, but hazy clouds waiting to pour water to kill the passion. And I see that there is no one to bother for the fallen leaves but the wind. It wants to take them far away but they want to stay back with the grass, who think that they are burden and are spoiling their winter. How busy all are to spare a thought for the leaves.
No wonder, Autumn –
You are lamented,
Such a pleasant weather of Fall !!