Leaf Prints

I fell asleep and dreamed my body was a wide, low tent, not surprising on this day when the rows of streets, trees and houses are blanketed in gloom. Do we appreciate the foliage more or less when it glows through the greyness, or do we dismiss it all outright in disgust? At this point the foliage has faded on some streets so that looking down them you can discern no more modulations in color than you'd see on rusted rust. On others perhaps a Linden still slurs from green to a red so raw it seems promiscuous. Some leaves, lying in brownish grey puddles, wear red better than any lips or nails I've ever seen.

The leaves leave prints on the sidewalk like lipstick traces, have you noticed? A kiss goodbye til spring. There's been some fairly distinct Maple and Sweetgum impressions in some places, even Gingko leaves stain the sidewalk with odorless green-ochre patches. In some spots the bleed of pigment is so dense now that no distinct tracings remain. For some reason it amuses me to compare those spots to the mascara of a prom queen having a psychotic episode, but maybe I should remember the tears of Demeter instead.

Although the prints are interesting I feel bad for the leaves that fall on cement, I'd rather they leach their color into the soil, then soften into the void with the help of the phyllum Annelida and the millions of microbes responsible for the dissolution of organic forms. Strange isn't it, that the year's foliage goes out in colors so similar to the ones seen at the end of the day. It's no wonder that we expect the color rich punctuation of grand finales.