Pulling up the blinds, my eyes fell on trees. Their leaves; golden yellow like sunflowers, flaming orange like marigolds, bright red like roses, deep maroon like certain withering flowers, and even green. They seemed to make haste. To fall. To break free from what held them together. To fly away, if possible. A deep sense of unrest lent heaviness to the autumn air. I stared longingly at the fallen leaves lying here and there, some in groups, some alone. And then, the sun, like an artist seemed deeply engrossed in filling up vast canvases of grass with its dynamic shafts of light, for a moment here and then suddenly there, a step ahead, and then, a furlong ahead, slowly but beautifully shifting its focus, taking me along.
What is it about them, the fallen leaves that makes me want to look at them again and again? And, when some of them glisten in the early morning sunshine, what is it that my heart longs for?
It reminded me of home, to which I was bound in more ways than one, from where I yearned to fly away, afar. We had trees aplenty, leaves fell copiously, layer upon layer where I walked time and again. Beneath them I discovered life; throbbing with desire.
The leaves are fallen, dead or so they said, but to me they were the receptacles of life; fresh and raring.
The leaves; I have always felt a connection with them. They link me to my roots, to my very being, to a simple life back home, to days when trees filled my life with more than just shade and fruits, with perspective, meaning, and depth.