Fall Leaves

By John G. Funchion

Whenever I think of Fall, invariably I envision millions of leaves in an act of final separation, ritualistically descending from their woody moorings to the ground in one of nature’s most interesting phenomena. Leaves don’t always fall from a tree in the same way. To the casual eye, the assortment of leaves raining down from the sky–slaves to each errant breeze–are nothing more than a normal, seasonal spectacle. However, to me, each falling leaf, swirling and pirouetting, is its own aerodynamic, choreographic masterpiece of nature that can’t be duplicated. Personal observation of such arborous stalwarts as maples, oaks, beech and the occasional horse chestnut during my daily, morning walk, affords me a private study of the various flight patterns leaves take as they make their way to the ground. Six patterns come to mind: tumblers, gliders, rockers, helicopters, divers and crashers. Take the “tumblers.” During their annual striptease act, these leaves, from the moment they leave their respective branches, tumble over and over again until they hit some arbitrary, undesignated spot on the ground. For some reason, be it shape, wind patterns, weight, balance, stem length or just plain stubbornness, tumblers like any other happy gymnast just have to totally tumble to their terra firma destination. “Divers,” on the other hand, leave the comfort of their tree branch to make one last, perfect open dive in the pike position, always stem first, in a fast-track plummet to the ground. And when they hit the asphalt, you can actually hear the “tick” sound of their leafy landing. Less refined are the, “crashers.” These leaves seem to have no life of their own and no sense of style or class. They exit their umbilical connection to the tree with no apparent pattern of behavior but to come crashing downward with warp speed only to whack on to any well- paved road with an intensity that puts Evil Knievel to shame. One of the most interesting leaves to come out of any tree is the “helicopter.” As though a prototype model for Igor Sykorsky, it swirls down like the spinning blades of a whirlybird and, given a good wind, can actually fly some distance well outside of its point of origin. Due to its aerodynamic motion, it is one of the most dramatic sights in nature’s kaleidoscopic beaker of autumn. The most unique and gentle flyers in the annual leafy air show of fall foliage are the “rockers.” The best “rockers” are from the ginko tree. When these leaves separate almost en masse from their branch constraints, they gently rock their way back and forth in a soothing sort of motion on their brief journey to the ground. They are graceful; they are musical and their gentle yawing reminds the observer of a peaceful children’s lullaby. It isn’t just the ginkos that rock, lest we forget the leaves of the mighty maple and oak trees that also serve up their usual entrée of colorful “rockers” consistently gracing a cold autumn sky. And; last but not least, the most sophisticated flyers of them all are the “gliders.” When these “gliders” abandon their perch after giving us a summer of shade, they take off stem first and glide in perfect, long flight patterns as though some hidden pilot is guiding his aerodynamic creation to the softest landing of any airborne creature. The perfect symmetry of each flight contrasts sharply as it flies between “rockers,” “helicopters” and “divers” all vying for airspace in a breezy choreography of color reminding us of our own vulnerability and mortality.