Leaves of Change

Awarded first place in Robert Waltz's Neologism Contest, November 2005

leafte - (n.) Term for the last remaining leaf on a tree, after all the other leaves have turned color and fallen off.

tirlenbinats - (adj): Extremely disheveled; disorganized beyond all hope of reconstruction or repair.

Leaves of Change

         Delia looked out of her kitchen window at the mess of rust and gold leaves that scattered across the yard. She dreaded this time of year when the cold autumn winds pushed out the final warmth of summer and ripped every last leaf from the trees. Delia loved the various trees that dotted her land, but what she hated most of all was the need to brave the chilly winds in a futile attempt to gather the dead leaves that littered the immense lawn. If it were up to her she would leave them to fertilize the lawn for next spring, but the Homeowner’s Association would have nothing of it. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Never again would she be part of the Homeowner’s Association.

         Delia let out a long sigh. Eventually, she would have to muster the courage to go out and rake all those leaves. She remembered when it used to be fun. When she was a little girl her grandfather would bribe her with a quarter to go out and rake the leaves. Then she would play all afternoon. Rake a pile, jump and play in the pile, then rake again and play again. She could entertain herself for hours with the little game. Even when she was older she still enjoyed going out on a crisp autumn day and discovering the little girl that still loved to play.

         As Delia gazed out the kitchen window her memory drifted and she was suddenly watching her younger self. She ran franticly from her new husband, Ronald, winding in and among the scattering of trees before she stopped, allowing him to catch her squarely in his arms. Oh, her dear Ronald. The first year they were married they managed enough money to buy a little house on this plot of land. It was late October when they finished moving everything in and Ronald suggested they go to the hardware store to buy a couple of rakes and take care of that “gaud awful lawn.”

         She and Ronald spent the entire morning raking the haphazard leaves into piles before he tossed her into one and she retaliated with a fist full of leaves in his face. They splashed around in the leaves all afternoon like little kids in a swimming pool. At last Delia looked at the tirlenbinat mess and convinced Ron that they had to start all over again. Finally, instead of a chaos of strewn leaves, they had an organized pile of over-stuffed bags. Ron gazed lovingly at his wife then pulled her down onto the pile where he held her close as they watched the sun fade into the western sky.

         Delia turned away from the window and wiped a tear from her eye. It’s been five years since the accident that tore Ron out of her life forever, but she couldn't move on. Since that harsh November day she hasn’t found the slightest joy in anything; least of all autumn festivities. It’s as if a heavy fog was cast over her world making everything appear dull and lifeless. Every morning she mustered the strength to pull herself out of bed and everyday she battled to maintain control of her overwhelming grief. Delia was certain that she would never be as happy as she was with Ron. Her life would never be the same.

         She walked to the hall closet and pulled on her heavy winter coat and a scarf. She figured that it was best to just get it done and over with. As she set out toward the shed to pick up a rake she pulled her coat tight around her against the gusty wind. Before she stepped out of the little building she glanced longingly at the other rake left standing lonely in the corner. Delia pulled the shed door closed behind her and trudged out into the yard. All afternoon she worked, hoping to beat the rain, as she raked the leaves into neat little piles before stuffing them into bags. After she tied off the last bag, she leaned on her rake and gazed up through the branches at the overcast sky. The clouds loomed ominously overhead as if the weight of her sorrow wasn’t enough. Then, as she glanced through the branches, she saw it. There was one tiny leafte clinging desperately to the branch and struggling for the last bit of life.

         Delia remembered, dearly, the last time she caught glimpse of a leafte. She was lying on bags of leaves snuggled next to Ron in the evening sun.

         “Look,” he said pointing through the branches, “there it is the last little leaf. When this leafte falls it marks the passing of a moment in history. It reminds us that no matter how hard we try to hold on, eventually, everyone has to let go. You should make a wish. It’s a lucky day to see the leafte before it falls from the tree.” He looked over at her warmly and pulled her closer while she closed her eyes and wished for his love forever.

         Delia stood under the clouds with her rake and watched the leafte struggle to hold on through a gust of wind. As the wind died, she watched it shudder as it finally let go and fell slowly to the ground at her feet. Delia closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that Ronald was happy wherever he was. Then she smiled to herself and whispered, “I love you” into the chilled autumn air as she, like the leafte, finally let go.

Happy Writing!

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