I was conceived in the falling of leaves


“I was conceived in the falling of leaves.” This phrase was conveyed to me by way of suggestion this morning. In that realm between slumber and awakening. This phenomenon is not a rare thing with me being I have often mentioned my irascible poetry sprite that plagues my subconsciousness. It asserts itself precociously when I am not completely awake and vulnerable to its vulgarities. I would state it was spoken or communicated but that I would suggest I hear voices, which I do not.

As I lay there contemplating this bafflement, I gazed out my bedroom window. There on my plastered outer wall were shadows that flittered, back lit upon the faded beige and eroded paint of the plaster. Unseen were the branches that filtered the light, dappling it erroneously. The shadows were still and sharp but then blurred and frantic as they were stirred by an unseen breath of air.

I asked myself, if not my irksome sprite, what I was supposed to do with this tidbit of whimsical verbiage. As I lay there, my inter eye visualized the falling of leaves, floating down from their arboreal heights. The fall colors glinting in the morning sun, pirouetting and twirling in their descent to earth to find rest, their vestige blanketing Mother Earth, providing a comforter for the coming winter.

I was disturbed pleasantly by music which I determined to be my wife’s iPhone. I recognized it as something familiar which turned out to be Angelina Jordan Curtam, singing “It’s Now or Never,” an Elvis Presley hit. I had seen the video before and had commented about it. I realized that Elvis’s voice had resurfaced two generations later in the voice of this young girl. Was it a natural phenomenon or had she been taught, regardless, you couldn’t deny the voice which was inherently Elvis’s? Such things stir my sense of inquiry into the unexplained. How can a salmon minnow find its way back to the same gravel bed where it was born? Do we believe in astrology and the zodiac being we all know people and their characteristics by their signs? Is dying just an endless cycle of rebirth? Do we ascend and improve in each life cycle? Do we eventual reach a heaven or a hell or is it just never ending?

Such are my musings about things unseen, mystical and esoteric. I think of things with no mass, no substance, but they are tangible none the less. A shadow is there, visible and distinct but it is nothing of substance, but it is there, tangible, conveying its image to our consciousness. Think of emotions and ideals, Faith, Hope, and Love. Think ideas, concepts! Mercy, forgiveness, loneliness, heartbreak, all concrete feelings but with no mass or substance. Such are the unseen, the mystical, innate powers: Gravity, sunlight, radiation,

Enough of my nattering dialogue. The phrase of being conceived in the falling of leaves is still there, unrequited and unexplained. Maybe it means something to one of my readers, who knows? Maybe it’s the cycle of life. The leaves were born and adorned their hosts with their majestic beauty. They then aged and died in their season and fell to Earth, there to decompose and form humus to provide nutrients to its host. They will also aid the seed that falls and is touched by God to create new life, to grow and in its season produce the same splendid array of Fall foliage, displaying God’s artistic palette of colors as he paints his majestic creation.

I am faithful to a fault. I suppose I have answered my poetry sprite’s urging by putting the thought to ink and by posting it. I will now go about my day’s work knowing I accomplished what I was asked. But to what end I ask. Enjoy!