Fall Away: a story in 60 seconds

"We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children." --- Native American Proverb

Thick, heavy clouds moved like a baby’s mobile through the cement-grey sky, making the earth below, with its ribbons of concrete, steel, and asphalt, feel like the drabbest of nurseries. But the perennial gloom did little to dull Daniel’s spirits. He was about to show his son something extraordinary, something he would never forget.

“Is it going to be scary?” the boy asked as they walked hand-in-hand along the pavement.

Daniel assured him it wouldn’t be. “There will be a lot of kids your age,” he said. “You’re going to have the best time, I promise.”

The pair turned the corner and arrived at a massive warehouse that occupied an entire city block. They found the entrance, stepped inside, and waited in line with the other families until it was their turn to enter the exhibit.

A woman was taking tickets toward the front. “Please enjoy all the sights, smells, tastes, and sounds,” she said, her voice kind and encouraging. “We just ask visitors to avoid touching the projectors and amplifiers.”

Daniel nodded, and his son followed suit.

The woman smiled and motioned them forward. “Just follow the arrows,” she instructed.

His son clutched his hand tightly as they walked through the dimly lit hallway. After a short time, they arrived at a double-wide door, the outside of which was decorated with the most fantastic mosaic of a rising sun. Together, father and son each grabbed a handle and pushed through.

“Wow…” Daniel’s son gasped.

They stepped into a room awash in swirls of gold, yellow, and auburn, colors brighter than anything the boy had seen before. A soft breeze, the source of which was unknown, gently pushed the aroma of fallen leaves and sun-kissed foliage up and into their noses. A forest of towering trees was projected across all four walls of the cavernous space.

Before Daniel could utter a word, his son was already pulling him through the exhibit, pointing out things he had only seen through a monitor or a screen.

“Apples!” the boy shouted as they entered an area that smelled like mulling spice and had been staged to resemble a real orchard. There was even a ladder in the corner for kids to climb up and snatch a piece of fruit.

They danced through a computer-generated thicket of oaks, dogwoods, and Japanese maples and even rolled down a small hill covered in a fine layer of astroturf. A vendor handed out apple cider. There was even a pumpkin patch.

After nearly two hours of exploring, they at last reached the final room. Daniel felt something brush against his feet as they stepped inside, but his son shouted the word first: “Leaves!” he cried.

The boy darted away and jumped into a nearby pile, tossing the leaves into the air and giggling with delight as they floated slowly back down. Daniel picked one up and inspected it. He quickly crushed the paper in his palm, tossed it back to the floor, and continued to watch his son rejoice in the splendors of autumn for the first time.

Daniel thought back to his own childhood, a time when Earth bent to nature’s will, when seasons punctuated and gave meaning to the year. But those days were gone. His son would never experience a trying winter, an early spring, a sweltering summer, or a temperate fall. No, now, all that existed in the world was grey, endless days of grey.

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