In the corner of a fallen maple leaf, a light yellow tint has begun to spread throughout its veins. This hint of color overhears the clandestine conversations between two colliding seasons; it is the offspring of summer and the mother of autumn. As unnoticed as the withering sunflowers, that first fallen leaf, still mostly green, marks the start of suits and ties, the exhumation of backpacks and notebooks. As that single, multicolored leaf graces the brown grass, flip flops and beach towels are buried in the depths of basements, Casual Fridays are never mentioned again, the lawn furniture mysteriously disappears. The sun still glows at eighty degrees yet the pool was closed two weeks ago and knit sweaters are sweated in because tank tops are no longer acceptable. What mandates the pool owner to put that disappointing canvas cover over the welcoming water, what convinces the teenager to look past her denim skirt and grab a pair of corduroys?
It is that culminating pile of slightly orange leaves gathering under the still-blossoming daisies. Despite the shining sun, the warm ocean water, the budding poppies, those scattered flakes of fall seem to imprison the pool toys and confine the sunscreen beneath their growing heaps. Red and orange paints half of tree-lined streets like an uncompleted brush stroke. The leaves change slowly. It is impossible to sit and watch the youthful green turn into learned orange, yet all of a sudden it is impossible to recall the fully green backyard.
The beautiful progression of the changes in color is viewed with animosity by summer-loving eyes. As the hectic weeks of September roll on, the beauty of the past summer is recalled at one final string of barbeques and beach parties. Friends gather around the open grills, the last flames of carefree months, and mourn as the fading summer sun disappears behind the looming clouds. Yet those looming clouds eventually part, and in their stead is that once green backyard, now a mural of autumn beauty.