Ghost Leaves

Ghost Leaves

Autumn is over.The leaves which turned from green to the many brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow and in so doing created a world of brilliance, are now gone. Winds pull the leaves from their tree hosts and in a whirling rain of color, spilling them to the ground below. Here the riot of rich color slowly turns to softer shades and then to a thick carpet of brown.

The air is sharp and cold. It bites when breathed in and brings a flush of color to the cheeks. The fragrance of the fallen leaves fills the senses. It is an intense earthy smell, clean yet a bit spicy and awakes a primal spirit.

Men with machines screaming at intense, ear-splitting decibel's, blow the leaves into huge piles along the roadside. In the old days it was a ritual of autumn to rake the leaves but modern life has pushed that aside. In times past, hours would be spent raking, creating leaf mountains. All to be ready for composting or mulching but now the landfill is to be their future home. 

Children had rituals also. They would bury themselves in fragrant leaf blankets or jump into the pillow-like softness that only a large leaf pile could provide. Handfuls of leaves became weapons and were tossed in abandon. Bodies became clothed in leaves and once imbedded in hair, leaves became hats of distinction. Giggles fill the air with joyous melody.

 
Dogs too, love the leaves. Darting in and out of the piles as the children do, tails high and tongues dropping from mouths. Dogs and children play together in glorious abandon. The leaves provide happy bodies with glowing faces and later, a night of deep sleep and sweet dreams.

But even as the children play, deep under the piles, ghost leaves are being born. 

Along the pile bottom and the top of the sidewalks, leaves are pressed into the concrete surface. The chemical reaction of autumn rain decaying the leaves etched copies of the leaves on the pavement. Darkened stenciled images of what was once living color.

Soon the physical leaves are collected and taken to landfills, yet the ghost leaves remain. Maple leaves, oaks, beeches and more leave behind a xerox-like image of themselves along every sidewalk.

The images remain through the rainy times of fall, when dark storms drench the town and bring cold winds. They remain when snow falls and covers them but the ghosts always reappear when the sun warms the pavement and melts a window to peak through. 

Winter grows stronger and more storms come. The cold becomes deeper as does the snow but it is the ice which the ghosts fear. The routine of cold nights and warm days make ice form on sidewalks and to protect those who walk upon them, the sidewalks are dusted with salt.

The salt bleaches the ghosts, each day making them a little lighter. Each day they became a little more ghostly until they finally fade away entirely. With their demise the snow fades too and in time, the days grow warm and new life returns. Soon grass becomes green and trees bud, it is the birthing time for future ghosts.

The cycle renews, for with each green leaf that appears on the tree, the future of the ghosts is assured. The ghost leaves will return again, they will come each autumn and disappear each spring in a perpetual dance that is their destiny.