This simple phrase “Dead Leaves” holds so much in it. This reminds me of the poem-“The Road Not Taken” by “Robert Frost”. He stood amidst the yellow wood where two roads diverged and he chose the road less traveled by, where the dead leaves fell all over signifying the difficulties of the path. And that he says has made a difference in his life.
With this, I get overwhelmed. There I sit sipping my coffee staring blankly out of the window pane. The forlorn dust-settled wooden settee in the lawn covered with dead leaves caught my sight.
Maybe it’s the caffeine effect but my mind has sailed into the ocean of “memories”. “Memories”-in which iridescent bubbles of glee and grief had bubbled up. The dead leaves and the wooden settee had been through everything. They had been the silent viewers.
I revert back. One year ago.
The similar ambience. The Autumn. The wooden settee above which the two maple trees had its branches spread over as if they were entwined.
That was our place. Under which We sat with our fingers entwined. We reunited everyday before the dusk fell. And every time the soft breeze embraced, the amber maple leaves fell on Us. I used to tell Him that those leaves made me fall for Him even more as it reminded me of SRK’s movie “Mohabbatein” where the maples leaves had united the lovers. And He used to laugh it off addressing me a typical-bollywood-type-lover. And then We used to kiss.
Under that maple tree, We had made promises not to follow the path of betrayal. We had dreamt of our wedding under the Eiffel tower and that He’ll bring me a Sapphire.
Under that maple tree I had rested my head on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep. The cozy autumn night when We had watched the night sky together.
Under the maple tree- had We last talked.
Under the maple tree-where He had parted his ways out of my life. Just like the dead leaves in the season of fall, He went.
Yet the dead leaves had the impression of his arriving and returning footsteps. And his love imprinted on my heart.
The autumn disembarked and arrived again; But not He. He was a particular Autumn among every-autumn. A “particular-autumn” that I’ll never stop reminiscing of.
Weird that the same “dead leaves” can be relatable in a different way in a different span of time. Once where the amber leaves wore the impression of love and gaiety; and now when they have become the symbol of grief and abandonment.
But just like leaves and flowers grow back even after they are stepped on. So will I. And here I sit longing for the spring to bloom after the dead leaves fall.
Life found a way.