Leaf Fall Accelerator
...And the human walks on. The catalyst human, the substance human, the formula human, the shadow human.
Every leaf has a face, and the human gets reflected in every leaf; in the snow he gets reflected and in the telegraph wires.
The naked trees are trembling in the wind: the Earth's freshly washed hair.
She is riding a bus, and a heap of leaves is rustling, struggling, yelling out there behind the window.
He is a janitor, and he is sweeping the asphalt. Their eyes meet for a moment, but then the foliage forms an impervious curtain between them. Where is she going? What for?
A cat is sitting near the porch, touching a fallen leaf with its paw. No one can see the cat, and it is impossible to tell whether it really exists, or does not.
A granny is sitting on a bench, watching the trees leaving their leaves so dartingly. The granny hopes to see the next leaf fall, too, and this is the only thing that keeps her living on all the year round.
All this is a stream of little events, and these events will never happen anymore, for the river of time is flowing too fast.
There was no catalyst human, and no one used to accelerate the natural process of the leaf fall; but the cat and the granny do believe in that special human, and therefore the human has to exist.
The white shadow human is walking through the park, and the leaves are throwing themselves into the human's face.