Falling Leaves

Falling Leaves
 Justin Rocha
 6/24/15
 I wander underneath the endless canopy in the rich oak forests pondering life. Turning around, I look through the last of the green leaves, back at the Andover Academy I attended the past four years. Summer is ending soon, and this will be my last time in the forest before I go to Harvard. I feel a tear trickle down my face, thinking of all the memories I’ve had here. I continue walking and stop at the swing. Now weathered down, I place my hand on the weakened rope and plant my Nike on the wooden board. I remember my first time swinging across the elegant river, looking down at the water the same color as blueberries, dark but still calming to look at. I depart from the swing, feeling a rough object float around me. I snatch it with my blistered hand, and examine it. The leaf, orange as candy corn on a Halloween night, is light like a newborn baby. Another leaf falls and it's pure as a lime.  Water drips to the muddy ground as if the leaf is crying that this is my last time in my home away from home.  It's the reflection of me, young and embarking to a new place.