Poem: The Fallen Leaves by Margaret Postgate-Cole
The watch ticked, my shoes clicked and the pace to my fast feet quickened. Today I was done for. Knowing Buddy you would know that he hates late people and by hate I mean detested. Loathed even, so today I was sure enough in for an earful. But I knew he would come around eventually because after all, he is my Dad. My feet pace hastened for the desperate yearning of his presence but my mind lingered with the fascination of how each and every little thing took me back to mine and Buddy’s memories.
Today, from my normal slouching and slumping, I walked with a presence of pride with what I was wearing. Not due to the fact that I was suited and booted in my Sunday’s best but because of my shoes. These were Buddy’s shoes. Boy he would be so ecstatic seeing me in these bad boys that he would completely forget that I’m running half an hour late! To me and Buddy these weren’t just shoes; they were what brought us together and made me feel like I was becoming him. Becoming Buddy.
My mind instantly flashed back to the days where we would sit on the curb on a warm summer’s noon lapping up strawberry ice cream like new-born puppies.
“Watch it Buddy you don’t want to ruin my shoes with that ice cream of yours,” he spoke as he gracefully tousled my hair.
“…Buddy?”
“Yes son?”
“When will I become a man?”
He chuckled a deep laugh and sighed until his eyes gazed upon the shoes. “The day you fit into these shoes my son.”
Today, I thought I had done just that which compelled me to walk with such pride as these shoes clicked to the rustle and crunch of the leaves that lay below.
The leaves, surrounded me like a swarm of bees, dancing gracefully to the order of the wind which whistled and whirled to my ears as each step I took. The icy autumn wind raced through the air causing a bitter chill against my soft skin embracing it tenderly.
Accompanied with the gusts of wind, little specks of white fluffy snow succeeded in competing to surround me. White or grey, part or whole, frozen or melted, each unique flake floated wistfully in dozens forming a vicious army of elegant yet authentic individuals. Alone they were merely an individually crafted piece of ice but together they formed an abundant blanket of snow clasping the enemy ground.
The crispness of the snow brought me back to the endless snowball fighting Buddy and I would play as a child. A grin beamed on my face remembering his words that the next time it would snow we would play again endlessly till there would be no snow left. But the mound of snow filling every nook and cranny seemed highly unlikely to get rid of. Snow was everywhere, glistening like stars paved across the streets and roads. But nothing could stop the montage of colours that seeped through the snow effortlessly. From the deep red to the golden auburn of the leaves.

My eyes would constantly glance back to admiring the gentle crisp copper leaves pricked apart from the father tree and separated from its own kind to individually make its own journey in the dangerous gusty winds. They would venture out leaving all, it has been made to belong to, behind to individually struggle. To fight for its survival against the vicious winds propelling it to fall to the ground just like the other Fallen Leaves.
Once it cannot take it no longer the leaves would float wistfully to the ground below where it is swallowed amongst the brown carpet of leaves. Gone forever. Forgotten. The leaves I admired in the air aren’t known for the struggle it endured but simply for the short life it had in the air till it was beaten in defeat to the ground. The same leaves I admired in the air are later trodden on and frolicked with, without much thought.
“How foolish these leaves are,” I murmured as I thought. The leaf that would once prosper as a plush green looking upon the rest of the world, chooses to separate from all of this. And for what? Simply to explore the wider world only to land on the floor shrivelled to a brittle brown crisp. All gone. All forgotten.
Now anxious of the time, I trudge on merely entertained by the surroundings due to the bitter revelation of how life really works. My eyes gazed onto the floor until the corner of my eye spotted a small yet ferocious leaf soaring in the wind; gliding even, like an eagle born to stand out. Unlike the other leaves, it wasn’t frail or wary but liberated and carefree happy with the choice it made. I knew exactly who this leaf was.
I reached the garden and this leaf glidingly followed. With a short and wistful move, it hovered amongst the other Fallen Leaves however drifted effortlessly onto the immense gravestone. Although this leaf fell to the enemy of the ground, this leaf wasn’t made to be a Fallen Leaf. It was made to stand out. This leaf was Buddy.
With my hand I proudly made a salute as I read the words “In Loving Memory of Richard Sanders, Loving husband, Loving Son and Loving Buddy.”
“It’s been a year Buddy…”