*Louise**
Leaves are falling in Angers, in the northwest of France, settling on the streets and sidewalks like self-indulgent poets. They’re falling in the Texas hill country, as sad and simple as a country-western ballad. And leaves are falling with patient dignity along the Serpentine in central London, and in Westerwolde in the north of the Netherlands they carpet the ground like burning snow. Leaves are falling everywhere in the Northern Hemisphere, and everywhere they fall the land is hushed.
It’s as if we’re all listening–waiting and listening–as if the leaves are about to reveal a secret. We’ve been listening all our lives, we’ve been listening for centuries, listening all over the world, listening for that whispered confidence to be shared–any time now, any time. We wait and listen and give ourselves over to the autumnal tide of falling leaves. We give ourselves over completely, willingly, because at any moment the leaves may rattle and murmur and the secret will be given to us. Or if not to us, then to somebody.
Maybe it’ll happen soon–tonight–in the streets of Angers.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
