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On Beauty and Falling Leaves

She got in the cab. A large gray bearded driver asked for the destination. She gave him the address. A small University town. There was no need for detailed directions. They started the ride. The whole way he complained. About the traffic: “Should have taken the other way! Too many students in this area!” “Oh, yeah!” she laughed to herself. “So much traffic it might take us five extra minutes!”  "What is she doing? Some people should not be allowed to drive! Get out of the way, lady!”

She looked through the window.  Shades of yellow, orange, ocher, red. It was just as if some magical creature had come into the night and painted all the trees in the most beautiful and unexpected hues. From where she came from, there was no Fall. At least, not like this. Leaves would dry up and fall from the trees occasionaly. Each species at their own time, throughout the year. They would also bloom at their own discretion, not all at once. There was no collective spectacle. The driver continued groaning. She tried to call his attention to the beauty outside the window. He pretended not to hear her. “How can someone not see this? How can a person choose such grumpiness over  beauty?”

She refused to listen to him anymore, his voice began to sound like a distant mumble while she lost herself in the colors of the trees, listening only to the sound of the tires crushing the leaves that had already fallen on the road. She paid close attention to each single leaf and all of them together at once. In a few weeks all of these would probably be gone. She had no idea when she’d be seeing such a scenary again in her life.

The cab parked in the driveway. She payed the man, even tipped him. He gave her his phone number in a piece of paper. "Call me, if you need a ride again." She took the piece of paper and wished him a good evening. She walked towards her front door, large decided steps. She held her head up high, the coolness of the wind on her face. While walking, she felt her hand turning the piece of paper into a very tiny ball. Inside, she laid her books on the kitchen counter, opened the fridge, picked up a bottle of wine, a glass from the cabinet and, Let her body slowly sink in the rented armchair strategically positioned by the window.

Photo credits: Bruno Sandes - 2013

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  1. UnknownJanuary 15, 2014 at 9:46 AM

    Interesting point of view piece.

    Good luck with the blog.

    ReplyDelete

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