Paulownia

There is a passing place on the road where I walk the dog, on the mountain slope above it stands a tall Paulownia tree.
In the spring the road seems to have been widened especially to house the carpet of fallen trumpet shaped flowers and forge a patch of sky for the tree to fill with its capacious leaves. Now the autumn is nearly over, new leaves are but a twinkle in the bud and the ground is carpeted again through the generosity of the parent tree. Some of the fallen leaves are over a foot from tip to tail.
I walk up the road on one of those mornings when my mind is steered away from higher things and follows my eyes to hug the ground. Suddenly I am jarred from the sneaking sensation that I am shrinking. The road appears to grow nearer as it widens and every step brings larger and larger fallen leaves into view and eventually my feet become tiny in comparison to the giants littering the ground. I realize my mistake and pause in the middle of this place where the tree casts off its unwanted garments as the seasons change. For a moment I look up and contemplate this evocative stage on which my little scene from a larger annual play about the seasons is being acted out. Each episode I witness as I move in from the wings is rather uneventful, but the magic of flashbacks means that I can recall all previous episodes, even the scent of the flowers and consult my mental program for upcoming events. As I walk on, growing back to normal size with every step, I begin to write this little note in my mind.

0.9mm propelling pencil on cartridge 25x35cm