Author's Commentary
Something i wrote a while ago...
Plotless, pointless
Enjoyed writing it, though.
The foliage remained coldly on the tree’s branches, as if there was an apparent discomfort shared by both sides. The leaves had lost the green vivacity that had existed during earlier months, the chlorophyll spark wilted into deathly autumnal nuances. The tree had grayed as well, since meeting the fresh budding leaves. Its bark had grown into a thicker wall around the trunk, which had lazily grown more gnarled, and the roots had extended into deeper, distant soils. Their eminent separation was no disillusionment, but the revelation of the fact seemed to strike through the fibers in the twigs that held the two together. Though the stems had grown dry, they could not break apart on their own.
A formless breeze, in the kindest way it could, nudged the leafage from the comfort of habit on the tree’s limbs. Individually, the leaves fell, like fragments of memories, like distracted emotions, like dingy flags of reluctant surrender. As the leaves fell, the branches reached away, skyward, desolate in the frigid air. The tree’s thinnest fingers seemed to be grasping for the few dark clouds above, with an acknowledgement that they were too far to be considered tangible.
Below the sundering scene, several figures admired the arboreal divorce. They were beyond childhood, but still struggling with their unrefined maturity. They raised their hands, gloved, mittened, bare, in an ambition to catch the leaves that flitted down to earth, like small pieces of heaven. They took a step back in their personal chronologies, chasing the angels’ wings as they all had when they fully understood, but hardly knew, the magic contained in a falling leaf. They carefully watched the twirling YellowRedOrange Nirvanas against the wide Azure, attempting to anticipate their landing points, and intercept them.
When they touched the uncut lawn, though, they became simple leaves. The blades of grass stripped them of value, changing them from priceless to worthless, in a mindless, natural way. On the ground, they were good for little more than a satisfactory crunch beneath ones soles. But in the air, they were evasive miracles, dodging, sometimes at the last second, the greedy fingers of giddy teenager-children. Their faces paled by effort and the chilly air, and their cheeks reddened by excitement, the castle-builders continued their hunt, but remained empty-handed.
A small distance away, a girl sat at a table, hunched over a notebook, her back to excitement. Her thigh muscles were tense, and her shoulders caved inward, as she tried to conserve the warmth in her thin, grey sweatshirt. She kept one hand strapped to her chest, clinging to the heat, and the other penciled a detailed map of words across a piece of college-rule lined paper. Her unoccupied hand pushed a lock of curly hair from her face, and retreated immediately back against her body.
A few leaves fell around her, but she didn’t notice until one barely missed her scribing fingers. It landed, on its own accord, on the half-filled page, overlapping several blue lines where she would soon be writing. In a way, it gazed up to her, both in majesty, and in melancholy. Almost unconsciously, her free hand again left its cozy abode, and brushed the wanderer off, sending it to the concrete at her feet. She was hardly aware of the disbandment and revel behind her; her ears were filled with the sound of black graphite on white paper, and thoughts of indescribable colors bustling through her head.
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