Counting leaves...

An explanation as to why there is no blog post today…

I have lots of ideas for blog posts, but today I’ve decided not to write anything. I decided this as I walked along Oxford Road this morning counting the leaves as they fell to the ground. I’d counted about forty-seven when the idea popped into my head not to write today. Well, why should I? It’s not like I’m getting paid for it or anything.

Crossing the road as the fifty-sixth leaf hit the ground I wondered why I bother to write at all. It’s not as if anyone’s life depends on it. Fifty-nine hit the ground as I ticked off the subjects I could, but wouldn’t, be writing about today. Why would anyone want to know why I haven’t yet got a tattoo on my right arm, even if it does look a little empty and could benefit from decoration, anyway?

A dog, a little further along the street, chased a piece of paper as the sixty-first leaf hit the tarmac just as I decided that I wouldn’t be writing about why various male Christian names are used as words to describe quite another male thing. Nor would I be writing about how our first names aren’t always that Christian at all, nor should be.

Seventy-eight and Chocolate Week was put on hold until another more inspirational day.

Eighty-one hit as two crows in the big tree at the end of the road seemed to look down at me as if I were a tasty snack. Slowly they decided to take off, flapping their big black wings as they gently disappeared into the distance whilst I gazed at eighty-eight, two fat ladies, swirling down in an eddy of wind, slowly drifting to land on a black bin with its handles turned towards the wall. Leaf ninety-six was crushed under the wheels of the recycling lorry as it turned the corner to pick up the bin which, no doubt, was full of empty wine bottles. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, and ninety-nine followed swiftly.

There was a slight gap in the leaf dropping as the breeze seemed to die for a moment. I stood still listening to the noise of wine bottles hitting metal as the bin was emptied by a tall, running man in green overalls and a beard that seemed to be trying to dodge the drops of rain that had just started to fall.

I gazed up into the rain-filled air and in the tree above saw the one-hundredth leaf detach itself from its holding twig and float towards the ground. I hardly had to move my outstretched hand as it dropped towards me. A little step to the right, a readjustment of my half-clutched fingers, and it was in my palm. Palm, it made me think that perhaps I might write a post about Twin Peaks - but not today.

I lifted the leaf to my nose, taking in the sweet, coppery, late season vegetation smell and then carefully folded it away, tucking it into my pocket. For a moment as I held it I considered writing about what I was going to do with the leaf. But as I’ve already mentioned I’m not going to write a blog post today.

And that is why there isn’t one.