It Is Autumn
Leaves flip crazily through the air. Brown, yellow, orange and an occasional splash of green. These are no thin leaves of tall gums these leaves are wide, some bigger than my hand. Other leaves are smaller, some crushed, all dying, yet creating a new beauty as they do so. Yet giving back to the soil, and the trees above them.
They rustle and crunch underfoot. the wind flings them against the short black aluminium fence. I crouch and look along it leaves, seedpods, chip and dust. The black poles run together and become solid. Leaves escape through the black barricade. and scatter over the green, watered grass. Green speckled with endless brown. The wind, time carries them away. Their mother trees are empty, appearing barren yet concealing something, for a spring to come.