Leaves
Maya Agrawal
I close my front door as my hair blows in the breeze, the breeze that tells me Autumn is finally here. I’m wearing my warm knock-off uggs and an oversized sweater hangs off my body while a miniskirt hugs my legs. As I walk down the steps leading me away from my house I cherish the few weeks we will have of stairs with no ice. Where will I go? I don’t know. The whispers in the wind will guide me until I return back home.
I hear kids laughing from the playground structures in the park, the park that will be empty in a month. I smell apple cinnamon from the crunch of orange leaves underneath my boots. The air is still moist from rain that morning and the grass is beginning to wilt. I’m in the in-between scene of chaotic busy sweaty summers and barren winters. I’m amongst Aphrodite beauty that can be so easily missed. hear, smell, and see nothing yet everything at once. It’s like the eye of a hurricane.
I walk through my neighborhood and see at least 3 people holding lattes, lattes that probably taste of pumpkin and cinnamon and clover and maple. Now my thoughts mix with the scent of longing for a warm drink in my cold hands. I breathe into them and feel warmth circle my cupped palms. Maybe one day every skirt will have pockets. For now, my hands become dry as I try not to drop my phone.
The laughter becomes distant and the sky grows darker, a darkness that reminds me of the night that will eventually engulf 4 pm. Time moves so quickly yet feels so slow during these moments of hushed stillness. I fill my mind with numbers as I count how many times I avoid sidewalk cracks. If I fail, I start again. My socks rub the inside of my shoes, creating an uncomfortable warmth. My heart matches the thump of my feet on the ground. I catch a sight of our concrete jungle lighting up the night. The glistening of windows high in the sky mimics that of a rural starry scene.
I pass my old school, the school that shaped who I am. Dirt colored bricks, ivy crawling up the walls, overgrown gardens, and murals blur past me as I remember walking through that building. I can still see my locker I shared with my friend and the library with a deep reading pit in the corner. I can still smell the cafeteria where my favorite lunch lady would sneak me extra tater tots. I can still hear the principal yelling down hallways when kids were misbehaving. I feel the excitement that used to overwhelm me when school began but has now become a dull ache of trudging through.
As I walk back home, I avoid drying puddles, puddles that will soon become dangerous patches of ice. I can’t help but notice red and gold overhead, the slowly fluttering nature’s confetti. A leaf falls on my head and I jump, startled. Once I realize I wasn’t being attacked by a pigeon, I pluck the leaf off my head and smell it. Instead of a fresh and flowery scent, my nose fills with the crisp aroma of autumn.
As I stroll back towards my house, the world gradually darkening around me, I feel an unspoken connection to the autumn evening, a kinship with the falling leaves and the gentle chill in the air. It’s a poignant reminder of the life I once knew, the simple joys of laughter, the playful moments with dogs, and the unhurried walks through overgrown grass, all set against a backdrop of trees that bore the marks of seasons gone by. As I clutch the leaf that had startled me, inhaling the unmistakable scent of autumn, I’m filled with a bittersweet nostalgia. The leaf, once part of a flourishing tree, now embarked on its journey to the ground, much like the path my life has taken since January. It’s a reminder that like the seasons, we are all on an ever-evolving journey.