reading the leaves

There are several large differences between autumn in Japan and autumn in southern Indiana, or anywhere in the midwest, for that matter. The one that really hits me, however, is tied up in the concept of nature.

To the Japanese, nature is something to be controlled. The best gardens are the perfectly manicured ones, the most peaceful pond is one surrounded by wooden walkways and overlooks, and the most glorious of autumn colors are seen in temples with spotless sidewalks. The obsession with control and cleanliness, particularly of “natural litter” such as fallen leaves can be observed most painfully in the way street crews lob off the branches of all trees in the early fall, lest they drop their leaves on the pristine roadways.

In stark contrast, I ride my bicycle along the golden yellow and orange canopied streets of Bloomington everyday, my bicycle tires rolling over thousands of fallen leaves. I can smell autumn because it is present all around me; it hasn’t been bagged up, cut off, or encircled by enclosures requiring an entry fee. Leaves of all shapes, sizes, and colors pattern the green lawns of every neighborhood. Sure, there are some who rake, but it’s a losing battle that most people don’t try to win.

I’m very happy to be back in Indiana for autumn. As much as I loved the ubiquitous bright red momiji (Japanese maple), I much prefer the variety of colors, shapes, and sizes of trees we have and appreciate here.