by Bridget Webber

Created on: November 03, 2008   Last Updated: November 17, 2008

This morning I witnessed the first leaf of Autumn fall slowly from its previous host and swirl gently to the ground, landing at my feet. I stared thoughtfully for a moment, admiring its golden color tinged with russet red, and then looked back up at the tree that had decided that summer was over and that it was time to shed its heavy load.

The tangled branches of the tree were silhouetted against the gray sky and the air felt sharper than usual in my nostrils. Sharp like the dark branches against the soft clouds. But they were not touching really. Of course not. It was just an illusion, like the rest of life. What we see before us isn't always as it seems.

I carried on walking, and observed the swallows gathering in groups, swooping across the open field. This must be their last performance before leaving to go to a warmer climate I had presumed. To me it was just more evidence that things were over. Leaves falling. Birds leaving. Somehow that almost amused me for a second, but the moment soon passed and I was back to thinking about endings.

You see, this morning, before the Autumn leaf had fallen, I had found an old man dead. Lifeless, he lay on the concrete of the step in front of a department store. His face had a blank expression. It wasn't one of peace, suggesting that a bright light had appeared full of angels to collect him. It wasn't an expression of horror, suggesting that he had been whisked away by monsters to live in hell for eternity. No. It was a non-expressive face that he left behind him, revealing nothing.

It seemed wrong that his death was so uneventful in other ways too. No drama had befallen him to mark his demise. He had not fallen into the arms of a loved one or even onto the earthy ground, but onto a man made concrete step where he simply slipped away and ceased to be.

After my walk that I had taken in order to try and make some sense out of finding the dead man I came back here, to the shopping center near to where I had found him. The traffic was thick and heavy as usual and shoppers hurried on by, as though nothing had happened out of the ordinary. But it wasn't their fault. They didn't know that a man had lost his life on the step that they now walked past or rested their shopping bags on.

I am in a coffee shop, across the road from the step, breathing in the delicious coffee aroma and attempting to cheer myself from my despondent gloom. People all around me are chattering and clattering their spoons against their coffee cups, shaking out

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