The best part of Autumn, he’d decided, was the leaves.

Any child who’s ever had any fun has jumped in a big pile of fallen leaves. There was something simple and satisfying about the experience. It never failed to enrage the elderly, something which should always be celebrated. Beyond the sheer fun of the activity, however, something more spectacular could be found in the pile of leaves: beauty. Nature had made a display of life’s conclusion. It was a subtle reminder that death, inevitable and necessary, need not be feared.

The leaves always came back, after all.

On the twenty-seventh of every October he gathered a big pile of leaves in his yard, spread his arms wide, and fell.