Today Lexa handed me a leaf. On one side it was a warm faded gold, and on the other the color of old tea. The edge seems to have decomposed in the dry eastern Utah air, and left a sort of hatching. What makes this leaf beautiful is its sheer uniqueness: there never has been a leaf exactly like it given its unique life history, and there will never be one exactly like it again. When I hold the leaf to the sky it glows, and the most vivid colors emerge, contrasting with the now clearly visible veins. These veins reflect the surrounding landscape: from above I imagine the fall colors of the cottonwoods running like veins, following the watersheds that supply life to the desert.
A leaf
A leaf
A leaf
Today Lexa handed me a leaf. On one side it was a warm faded gold, and on the other the color of old tea. The edge seems to have decomposed in the dry eastern Utah air, and left a sort of hatching. What makes this leaf beautiful is its sheer uniqueness: there never has been a leaf exactly like it given its unique life history, and there will never be one exactly like it again. When I hold the leaf to the sky it glows, and the most vivid colors emerge, contrasting with the now clearly visible veins. These veins reflect the surrounding landscape: from above I imagine the fall colors of the cottonwoods running like veins, following the watersheds that supply life to the desert.