Autumn Leaves

Grace Roseanne Parker laughed, and it was the sound of wind and rustling leaves. They shook their head, more leaf than hair, and laughed again as the fall drizzle ran down their face.

Nobody can love the fall more than a small child, nobody can venerate the colors and worship the falling leaves quite the same, and when the child who would one day call themself Grace had at last blown away into a shower of red leaves and autumn air, they had not been scared in the slightest. Their old name was forgotten not even a century later. Their appearance was always in flux; they were a fickle god, never quite satisfied with themself. Once they had been a little girl, then an old man with a worn oak cane, then a fae king, and so on and so forth. Oftentimes the humans they interacted with perceived them as a harvest god, but that was really incidental. They were around at the harvest, but they did not work. They played in the leaves, or sat around sipping cider when they felt too old or dignified for that kind of fun.

Now they were a young woman in a sweater and white scarf covered in leaves in every shade of orange and red and yellow and brown. The world had changed, and the harvest was no longer the most significant thing about fall. Now instead of cider they sipped coffee with plenty of cream on the patio outside of a small local coffee shop. They always tipped well— although they had found baristas seemed uncomfortable charging a god at all—but they never seemed to lack money, no matter the currency of the place and age. One of those little things.

Two girls approached them as they drained the rest of their coffee, whispering between themselves. One of them gave a tentative wave. “Uh, hi. I was wondering since, uh, your skin is kinda…weird…”

“Mackenzie,” her friend hissed. “You can’t just say that.“

“It’s alright,” Grace told her, examining their mottled red and orange hand.

“Right, well we were just wondering if you were like, a goddess.”

“God,” Grace corrected her. “But yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s like, really cool though. What are you the god of? Fall?”

“No. I’ve met the god of fall, and he’s nice enough. I’m just the leaves.”

“Leaves?” Mackenzie’s friend said.

“Fallen leaves.”

“Oh. That’s, uh, interesting.”

“Thank you. I agree.”

The girls shifted awkwardly.

“What’s your name?” Mackenzie asked.

“Sorry?”

“Like, maybe I’ve heard of you.”

“You haven’t. I’ve never had any cults, or worshipers besides young children.”

“Oh.”

“My name’s Grace, for now. If you want to honor me, go jump in a pile of leaves. Have fun.”

Then they were gone in a gust of wind.