There is no comparison to a crisp October morning, followed by an Indian summer afternoon with brilliant autumn foliage. It's a great time to be afield. October rekindles our spirits, but the season is too short-lived. A little wind and rain can overnight reduce Nature's finest tapestry to a gray and barren landscape. Such an abrupt ending of October's bright passage is depressing and often triggers a psychological letdown. When the leaves are down, winter cannot be far away. For many people this marks the beginning of the doldrums - but every month has its beauty. Finding November's character is just a matter of getting re-tuned to a different wavelength of nature.
I recall an early November morning that held me spellbound. Most of the foliage was gone, but oak, beech, and black cherry still retained a few leaves near the top of the canopy. While walking through the woods enjoying the open views my attention focused on an event, so simple, yet so fascinating, I wonder how I ever missed it before...sometimes the things we overlook or take for granted turn out to be the most beautiful.
The morning was cold and still, and light frost encrusted each leaf. Not the slightest breeze stirred as the sun peeped over the horizon and sent it's first rays wisping through the tops of the trees. The warming light gently thawed and released the leaves from Jack Frost's grip. One by one, as if on cue, the leaves of a scarlet oak began their descent.
Being the only movement in the forest, this downward trickling of just a leaf or two at a time was striking, and drew my attention. The leaves were releasing at near perfect intervals. As soon as one reached the ground another began its descent giving me time to compare the plummeting pattern of each. Though the air was dead still, none fell as anyone might expect. Some seemed to defy gravity.
The first leaf catching my eye came down in a spiraling staircase-like loop while at the same time slowly revolving itself. Picture a helicopter blade doing a slow spin as it descends in a broad staircase-like spiral, quite a feat in dead air. The next leaf floated down in a horizonal position, but vibrated back and forth from a pivot on one end. Next came a real speedster, a leaf rapidly spiraling downward like a revolving drill bit.
After several variations of these themes the next one to descend was a real show stopper. It began as a straight dive, then suddenly looped upward, paused for a moment, dove another few feet, then looped upward and paused again. It repeated this pattern all the way down, perhaps half a dozen times. For a free falling object in still air it took quite a while to complete its journey. There were several variations of this theme. Some zig-zagged back and forth before pausing. Others spiraled, swirled, gyrated, or wobbled back and forth like a soaring vulture. At the top of a loop, some would hang motionless for a moment, as if someone had flipped off the switch controlling gravity. One leaf was totally different. It plummeted straight down, slid into a strange coiling upward loop, then stiffly floated from there, one of the few to change pattern in mid-stream.
I marvelled at the multitude of descent patterns. Some reminded me of a broad-winged hawk flying a thermal, but in an earthward direction. In others I saw a wobbling kite in reverse action. Some rocked back and forth like a metronome. Others quivered and trembled as if they were scraping the edges of a saw blade in their descent. A few floated motionless, perfectly stiff, but slipped left and right like a glider looking for a place to land. A few appeared to be sliding down a twining vine. Some descended reluctantly, as if aware they were going to their grave. Others made their last act a flamboyant display like the actor who wants his final stage exit to be a glorious one. Then there were some who raced to the ground in all eagerness to get this last trip over.
I began timing their descent. The fastest sped down in five seconds, the slowest required 19 seconds. One pivoting floater took a full nine seconds to descend from less than halfway up the tree. Had that leaf grown in a more lofty position, it would easily have broken the 20 second mark.
Sadly, breezes created by the warming sun broke the spell and a strong wind stole the show. The magic of the morning was over.
Like snowflakes and people, every leaf is different. The last remaining leaves on oaks die and curl to a dry brown. The various sizes, deeply cut lobes and angles of curling produces an infinite variety of shapes and forms for air currents to work on. The trees with the most complicated leaf configurations, such as oak and maple, have the most varied aerodynamic patterns. Try to find an identical pair of leaves. When you think you have, drop them from a lofty place when the wind is still and watch their descent. Their individuality will burst forth and you'll see one of nature's better variety shows.
Life is too short to miss the beauty of any season. Although the birds have departed, the flowers faded, and autumns colors have turned drab and brown, nature still provides a subtle touch for those who observe. Come a frosty November morning, when dawns first beams touch the canopy, you can walk the woods and marvel at the sublime, incredibly diverse and aerodynamic descent of the falling leaves.
