Finding America

Me and Tarah

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When I was 8 years old, I thought leaves were magic—not just in the sense that they were pretty or interesting; I thought leaves were actually magic. I thought they were of another world, leaving imprints on this world, after floating with such grace to the ground below.

Of course, those imprints would always occur around this time of year. That would mean it was about twenty years ago that the inspiration for this piece of music came to pass. 

I was twelve years old. It was 1994. I know this because I'd recently started supporting Manchester United and was wearing my brand new replica shirt. Standing in our family's front garden on what was a breezy September (or possibly October) afternoon, I caught a glimpse of a leaf coming away from the big tree at the bottom of the garden. Actually it was more than just a glimpse—I watched this leaf's journey for what seemed like an hour as it bounced from one pocket of wind to the next, seemingly capable of doing anything but hitting the ground.

I'm not sure why this otherwise unremarkable memory stuck. Perhaps it was because this was the first time, in this one simplistic moment, that I truly came to appreciate the British autumn. Nothing quite beats its morning dew, nor its playful blustery winds. And certainly not its falling leaves. Because those leaves are magic.   
This article was written by Laurence Brown. Laurence is a British expat living in Indianapolis, Indiana, and writes for BBC America and Anglotopia. He is Editor-in-chief of Lost in the Pond and loves nothing more than to share these articles with anglophiles, expats, and other interested parties on social media. Follow Lost in the Pond on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.

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