She looks on the field, from the road where she stands. It is bare everywhere save a few patches of green and yellow. She cannot see any trees until her gaze turns to the right end of the field. She can feel the lump in her throat rising. As she walks towards those trees she can see small leaves coming in view and some moss on the trunks. The ground is bedecked with beautiful yellow dried leaves. She can feel the softness of those hanging on the branches and the smell of gum as she tears one in her imagination. As she nears she can hear the rustling of the leaves in the whooshing of the wind. And she can suddenly see them together, walking on the leaves. She can hear the crunching of the fall beneath her shoes as if it were paper she was walking on instead of leaves. She likes the sound. She likes the feeling – the emotion. She likes it when they are together – when they were together. With each step they take she can hear a buzzing in her ear and realizes that voices are knocking on her ear drum – waiting to be heard. She hears them talking dirty, she listens to them singing songs in off tunes – the oldest song in the industry or may be the saddest one. She listens and she laughs at how the words seem funny in their voices even though they are supposed to be sad. And then she feels the wetness on her cheek. She doesn’t let it bring her back to present. She sees them saving their scarves from blowing away in the wind. She watches them chase each other to the end of the mini orchard and then turn back to chase each other into the middle of those trees. She understands the silent pact they have – not to run out into the open. She knows they’d like to stay there in the protective shelter of those trees.
Suddenly, she sees them going further into the cluster and she has lost sight of them. She cranes her head in search for them. She doesn’t want to lose herself into those trees – those memories. She opens her mouth to calm herself. All that comes out is nothing. The leaves on the trees are incongruously growing with the haziness in her eyes and the lump in her throat. The leaves which were waiting on the ground to be raked are gone, replaced with green shrubs and moss which she abhors. She is brought back from her memories with a clang of the bell sounding. She turns her back to cluster of trees – not to look back. She walks back to the boulevard – boulevard of reality!
A/N – This is for Y.