The day after Halloween I ran through the still decorated neighborhood streets. Miniature grim reapers softly floated in the wind, their flowing black gowns snagging on the branches of the tree they hung from. Pumpkins still grinned on porches. Thick, cotton-candy cobwebs still frozen in the act of devouring bush, or tree, or house. The colors of the brick-paved streets matched the hallowed palette nicely.
The sidewalk’s light grey concrete bore witness to the death of the Autumn leaves. Evidence of once soggy carcasses, now washed away, covered the stone like a rash. Splotches of surprising detail. The sharp edges of birch. The distinct shape of maple. Was that an outline of a buck-eye leaf?
I can’t help but think these haunting imprints are proof of some sort. Proof that a leaf lived and died.
A leaf-ghost.
