IN A FLURRY OF LEAVES
After “The Fall” by Russell Edson
Two leaves do not make a tree—or rather the tree does
not know the leaves are shedding. No wind confesses
or complains, nor do the branches note the altering lift
of their limbs.
The evening window watches all of this. Two leaves are
not the core of this thought—they are brittle with time
and the season is changing. Sadness imposes, wearing
its dour expression.
"Sadness becomes him,"
mutters the mirror,
averting its reflection.
Little blue question-marks flutter around, needing—as
always—answers. The tree fidgets in the course of the
increasing storm. The leaves loosen their stems.
Sadness cannot give up the urge to weep, the way the
room crackles, causing a change-in-mood of scenery,
which make sadness stifle a whimper.
The mirror breaks in a crack of thunder. Two leaves fall
from a tree. The tree does not notice. Sadness looks for
comfort. The mirror breaks in another crack of thunder,
splitting a tree-limb from the shuddering tree.
_____________________
Thank you, Joyce Odam, for this intriguing autumn tale! For more about Russell Edson's "The Fall", see geoffklock.blogspot.com/2006/03/russell-edsons-fall.html/.
—Medusa
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