Why I Love the Foliage

Fall Over Spring

The leaves turn colors before they fall off the trees. It’s actually sad that the leaves are dying, that winter is coming, that summer is over. But the leaves charm all with their understated beauty. The crunch of leaves underfoot is technically a further sign of decay, but it is a wonderful sound.

Their colors blend organically, muted. There is no boasting by the leaves like the spring flowers or even the sparkly white coating on the trees and the roofs of the winter snow.

The leaves are not shiny, square or sleek. They are not artificial or synthetic.

They don’t boast or brag. They don’t shout or flaunt. The ombre variegated leaves don’t flick their metaphorical hair performatively.

The leaves in their browns and oranges, terra cotta, evoke the 90’s grunge, gentle eye rolling and soft muttering of my teen years. Fond to me now, but then, not so much.

The leaves hang onto frail branches, or flail to the ground, as if to say, “what me, beautiful?”

Quiet elegance. Dumbfounding beauty.

The exquisite colors and shapes of the everyday.

The bright flowers and the green trees of the spring exude a confidence that make them seem like they will be there forever. But the falling leaves touch you because in their very essence they are a limited time offering. The chill and the crisp breeze foreshadow the coming dip in temperatures, while the spring seems to announce a new permanent reality: a summer that is not hot, the novelty of warmer sunny moments that stay forever fresh.

The spring is the promise of impossible perfection to come, while the fall is an earthy acceptance of what is. Fall pulls us to recognize the beauty around us, not in the spectacular and loud, but in the muted and seemingly incidental.

The fall is chill; the spring is exuberant.

The spring shines in your eyes, the fall whispers in your ears.

The spring is all that glitters; the fall is magnificent without all the bells and whistles.