Falling leaves

Leaves shook on the branches, causing hushed whispers to suddenly sound all at once overhead. A leaf, slightly curled up and crisp from age and the pendulum swings between an Indian Summer and the frigid chill of deep Winter, fell slowly.  It wandered in mid-air, as if almost hesitant and cautiously eyeing the ground. For a few moments, the breeze carried it. On invisible wings, the leaf blew sideways and almost brushed against me. Then it spiralled, turning and twirling like a ballerina, before it softly landed and became lost among its other fallen brothers and sisters. Falling leaves seem to return to their roots.

I hiked up Mont Royal, which is just behind the law faculty, and a place I frequent when I need inspiration or a quick breather after lunch. Walking on the maze of paths and trails of the mountain is something I thoroughly enjoy doing at any time of the year. Winter strips everything bare, and then blankets everything with a soft coat of white or heavy layer of ice. Spring creeps in with the return of chirping birds, and as the mercury inches higher, the leaves and flowers begin to bud. In Summer, with the intense heat, Montreal swelters under horde of tourists and cultural activities, but under the umbrella of lush green leaves on the mountain it always seems to feel refreshingly cool.

And then there is Autumn. That schizophrenic in-between season when it's not too cold, not too warm, when the weather is as indecisive I am when it comes to what I should wear every time I go out. It is the season when nature unleashes its true colours, splashes them on the trees for a few weeks in an elaborate display before sudden storms sweep all the leaves away.

Under a clear, clear blue sky, through the laziness of the Autumn sun that penetrated foliage, colours of various shades, hues and tones came to light. Some trees were topped with bronze, others crowned with red, gold or yellow. Some trees captured that gradual change of colours, as from the bottom to the top of the tree the leaves were dyed in variations of green, yellow and orange. Other trees were already stark naked, standing there looking embarrassed in comparison with their more elaborately dressed neighbours. Gentle rustling sounds on the bed of fallen leaves alerted me of cute little squirrels. With their bushy tails and little front paws, they scurried around in search of food and in preparation for the harsher weather to come.

Most leaves still clung on tightly, while others easily let go, taking the natural course of falling with the aid of the wind and gravity. It will only be a matter of time, perhaps days, perhaps another week or two, before the inevitable fate of falling catches up with all the leaves.

By then, the mountain from afar will have put on another coat of another texture and colour in preparation for another season.