On the Colors of Autumn

Well, it's not really a story. More of just a musing as I was looking out my window and trying to cram in some writing before class. But it was the closest category I could get.

I often wonder if anyone ever feels a tinge of sadness at the colors of autumn leaves? While the bright oranges and reds and regal golds evoke feelings of admiration, and while all of these colors are indeed beautiful, are they not also melancholy? Whenever I see an especially magnificent fall tree, it brings mixed emotions. I like to take in the colors of the leaves, let them burn their image on my retinas, simply because I know I will not see those very leaves ever again. When those leaves shrivel, when they finally brown and become frail and undeniably dead, when they blow from the tree in November gales…I wonder if it ever occurs to anyone that we have to wait months and months for leaves again. We must wait for their cool shade, the whispers they make to each other in a summer breeze, and the mosaic they form under the sky and above our picnic blankets.

                I suppose, though, that these leaves don’t mind. They’re bright and cheery as a collective unit before their termination. I find it curious that at the point of near death"when most of us are at our weakest, our most worn-down, our most pathetic state"a fall leaf is at what most of us consider its point of absolute beauty­­. They are admired by many"people even drive hundreds of miles just to glimpse them in a few snapshots"before they die. And when they do fall, they’re still lovely. They’re picked up by artists or lovers or people who wish to preserve them pressed between the pages of novels on bookshelves. They’re raked into piles and kicked around by small children, basking in their joyful cries and laughter. And when the lethal wind does blow, they chase each other around the ground, like a magnificent, whirling game of tag.  

Author's Note

This is not complete, though I wasn't sure exactly how to complete it.

Reviews

[HamishBison]

Right, first go at a review, so sorry if this is the wrong format or anything.

I enjoyed this. It makes something beautiful out of something people take for granted, and I always enjoy that sort of thing.

"We must wait for their cool shade, the whispers they make to each other in a summer breeze, and the mosaic they form under the sky and above our picnic blankets." This is my favourite part. The image created is beautiful, and makes a fairly trivial thing seem legitimately sad.

The second paragraph starts out fairly confused, "I find it curious that at the point of near death"when most of us are at our weakest, our most worn-down, our most pathetic state"a fall leaf is at what most of us consider its point of absolute beauty­­. They are admired by many"people even drive hundreds of miles just to glimpse them in a few snapshots"before they die." being fairly difficult to follow.This might be a typing error as opposed to an issue with the work self though.

The ending is nice though. I really do love that last sentence.