Seeing colors scattered around the ground during autumn is a normal occurrence. Trees' leaves change color as they die, as the tree prepares for the barren temperatures and snow blanket of winter. Some plants form more buds when petals fall off; others do not. The leaves fall, and they color the ground before the snow buries them for the next three or four months. Flowers also shrivel up when the frosts begin to come. The once smooth and silky petals dry up and become brittle. Their various smells dissipate with the velvety texture of the bloom.

Unavoidably, some leaves and some flowers fall from their mother plant long before winter. Animals or humans brush too closely and shake the flowers lose. Sometimes the wind blows stronger than usual and takes the green leaves right off the trees. The otherwise healthy blossoms, still as bright and sweet smelling as those on the plant, lie on the ground and await a fate of trampling or gradual starvation. The petals do not immediately lose their soft feeling, and the colors remain vivid for hours, even days.

Against the barren city concrete and skyscrapers, plants tamed by man add beauty and calm to the otherwise busy metropolis. Their aroma permeates the air around, making for a refreshing breath of fresh air in the smoggy city. People take comfort in the small experience of domesticated nature that the city offers. They often do no take time to notice a small, claret red petal lying on the ground by a potted plant. It may not have lost its floral scent and fabric like texture yet, and by all evaluations, it seems perfectly alive. Why did this petal fall prematurely? At least a month remains before the plant itself will shrivel in the cooling winter climate. The petal is so full of life that it seems out of place on the city concrete; it is so life like and obviously removed before its natural time.

My grandparents' house in the Ada woods offered a priceless view of nature and its life cycles. Every spring, we saw a strange combination of seasons: everything was beginning to bud like a normal spring, but the snow always hung around as long as possible. The partially melted snow revealed a layer of dead leaves, because their property was too expansive to rake completely. My grandpa's garden also added to the juxtaposition of death and rebirth. This seasonal mix could still be seen around Easter one year. We celebrated the day with a wonderful lunch made by my grandma (with much "assistance" from all the cousins). As my parents and I left that afternoon, we waved goodbye to my grandparents while they stood together outside the house. That evening, my uncle called, and my mother was shocked to hear my normally goofy uncle sounding rather serious. He told her, "You might want to get Bruce my dad on the line, too. There's been an accident."

Of all things that could happen while living in the woods with uneven ground, a gigantic ravine, and a driveway at the bottom of two hills, there had been a forest fire. To this day, no one knows the exact cause of the fire, though it appears to have started on the neighbor's property. My grandpa was outside raking leaves exposed by the melting snow when we think he saw the fire. In hindsight, we still wonder why he did not return to the house and call 9-1-1. It seems that he tried to run to the neighbor's house to warn them. The property line was near the top of the steep, tree filled hill, which would be a strain for anyone to climb, little less for an eighty-four year old man to take at a run.

Eventually, my grandma saw the flames, and she called 9-1-1. She also phoned my uncle, who lived five minutes away. He promptly dove into his car and possibly broke some land speed records on his way to my grandparents' house. The fire department arrived in time, and all structures survived the blaze intact; I doubt they received any damage aside from paint discoloration. My grandpa, however, was not as lucky. The fire fighters found him sitting against a tree at the top of the hill. One of the firemen told my grandma, "It's ok, his eyes are still open!" His attempt at reassurance was almost humorous, because having been a surgical nurse, my grandma knew that open eyes meant nothing; she had closed the eyes of many patients who died on the operating table. The firemen never did allow us to see my grandpa's body. The autopsy showed that he must have died before the fire reached him because his lungs contained no smoke; we think running up the hill must have given him a heart attack. He probably felt weak, sat down against the tree to catch his breath, and he achieved eternal rest.