I perk up during fall not only because of the colorful trees but also because of the freedom to let frail leaves wither. During the season, I have a few trails I try to walk through to enjoy the trees from different vantage points. But when you’re in a new home, those vantage points morph into newer locations.
At such a new location on a homely street connecting Ontario Lake and Queen Street East, I see a spectacle of color: oranges and reds and yellows in trees and musky yellow hues on the pavement. The crisp rustle of the leaves under my shoes announces my arrival to whoever’s near. I stop and look up at the leaves as I approach a middle-aged woman with a maroon mop of hair and her black-brown dog. “Beautiful,” I smile and nod in the direction of the trees.
“You are beautiful. Such a beautiful smile.” She takes me by surprise, and I murmur an awkward “You too,” as we pass each other and her dog tries to come to me for some love. Little do these two know that I’m actually scared of dogs, although I grew up in a house with three dogs at its grandest terror.
My throat catches a lump. My eyes threaten to wobble. I’m glad it’s dusk enough so a tear or two can escape at their own will.
I’m reminded of people who have appreciated my smile like this woman. And those who have failed to see beyond my skeletons.
I go home and ponder what she said. I send her some good vibes. Maybe she was talking about the trees as well, although the trees barely smile this season. Or do they?
