At Risk for Falls

Upon one reach

Reach a certain age and one’s Medical Record by default includes a caveat: “At Risk for Falls.” This year in the Land of Rip Van Winkle, the entire region was diagnosed as being at risk for “no Fall.” The blazing boughs, the iconic foliar displays, the hosts of leaf peepers—all were largely canceled—much as apple picking was, though that happened back in May when a late frost obliterated the fragrant blossoms. And so it came to pass: Each leaf of beech, birch, maple, ash, and oak withered with no fuss, awaited the winnowing breeze, then simply let go.

What the ghost writes, let the ghost read herself.

Yet it did not end there. It never does. During the last days of October, something extraordinary took place: The colors of Fall exploded on the ground. At first, a few spring violets were spotted, unusual enough, blooming amid the sere leaves. This curious anomaly served as catalyst, igniting swaths of forest floor in a fresh flush of color and fragrance, as if emanating from the duff of autumn’s past. Forests, too, remember.. Nevertheless, days inevitably grow short and the night comes on quickly. But the Fall once said to be at risk—has been restored.

©John P. O’Grady