It is finally autumn. Ecstatic autumn! Leaves are swirling and twirling and leaping about with Bacchanalian satisfaction. They are throwing a street party to end all street parties. Death is near, but until then it is a wicked celebration 24/7. Their orange, gold, and dark red forms flee rakes and tumble out of bags. They fall from trees to dance in the gutters and under the bodies of dirty cars. Leaves, so joyous, loll about in moments of repose, only to be bruised and trampled under dogs’ feet or sat upon by careless children. Death is near, and they know it: until then, they will dance on the wind.
*
It is finally autumn. Ecstatic autumn! In the late afternoon I take my place: curtains open, cup of tea in hand, elbow on windowsill.The sun sets early, beyond the white and dove grey apartment house across the street. The sky is relentlessly pale, diluted even in twilight to a bleak rose or chalky orange: bold colours are too busy dressing the leaves to have anything to spare. It’s their yearly dying wish, one cannot blame them. We have four seasons, they have less. As the masses of crisp leaves move and heave they give off a sound like the cawing of crows. Duncan barks and noses the pane, desperate to be loosed with apocalyptic fervor on these unknown fiends. Death is near, and they know it: until then, they will dance on the wind. The sights and smells are fleeting, of this and every other season. Dogs dream of chasing leaves, but will settle for a bone. As for me, I will drink down my tea and write some elegiac words instead.
*
It is finally autumn. Ecstatic autumn! Leaves are swirling and twirling and leaping about with Bacchanalian satisfaction. They are throwing a street party to end all street parties. Death is near, but until then it is a wicked celebration 24/7. Their orange, gold, and dark red forms flee rakes and tumble out of bags. They fall from trees to dance in the gutters and under the bodies of dirty cars. Leaves, so joyous, loll about in moments of repose, only to be bruised and trampled under dogs’ feet or sat upon by careless children. Death is near, and they know it: until then, they will dance on the wind.
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Can smell and feel them even now. Good intermezzo sharing. Dance the dance…
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Thank you so much! I shall dance the dance for as long as I can, and the same to you.
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“Death is near, and they know it: until then, they will dance on the wind”
Beautiful! I would love to share your words in my next weekend post (it will fit the wind theme perfectly!) may I, with a link back?
My dogs have been so joyful playing in the leaves that have started to fall. It makes me smile and want to dance on the wind myself. 🙂
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Thank you so much! As long as you link back/attribute it to me, you can absolutely share it. 🙂 I would be honored.
I wish my dog was a bit more on the joyful side, and less on the “I must KILL all of the leaf monsters now!” side. He goes a bit wild at this time of year. It is even worse than normal, because we live in a house now and not a loft apartment in an industrial area.
I have to stop myself from plopping in a leaf pile, because I loved doing that as a child. I don’t think my husband would be too pleased, though.
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The Chef here… There is likely dog poop in that pile of leaves out front.
Do not, repeat NOT, plop about.
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Haha, no worries! Thanks for letting me start off the day with a laugh.
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Hahaha! “KILL ALL THE LEAVES!” And then just when I thought it was safe to take another sip of coffee, The Chef made me laugh out loud all over again.
Thanks for the permission, Mae, that’s very kind.
I saw this earlier today via the Whiskey River blog and it reminded me of your prose:
“Every spirit passing through the world fingers the tangible and mars the mutable and finally has come to look and not to buy. So shoes are worn and hassocks are sat upon and finally everything is left where it was and the spirit passes on, just as the wind in the orchard picks up the leaves from the ground as if there were no other pleasure in the world but brown leaves, as if it would deck, clothe, flesh itself in flourishes of dusty brown apple leaves and then drops them all in a heap at the side of the house and goes on.”
– Marilynne Robinson
(I believe it is from her novel Housekeeping.)
Seems as if many of us are celebrating the joy of leaf monsters these days!
-Christy
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Hehe, thanks! The only thing that Dunc loves more than attempting to obliterate shadow monsters is doing the same with leaf monsters.
I married a witty man, what can I say? 🙂 And he is most likely correct, too. So much for my dreams of a poetic autumn day…
That is a lovely, lovely excerpt. So intensely lyrical. Thanks so much for sharing.
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Autumn has a way of making a person feel this way, doesn’t it? It’s such an energizing time of year which is odd, considering nature is falling asleep.
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It is energizing, yet it also makes me want to start nesting. It is my favourite time of the year!
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