R. A. Ruhl

A fruit fly lands on a fallen brown leaf,

Both symbols of decay.

One appalls, the other is adored.

Why?

A fruit fly exists in all seasons, but autumn leaves fall a few short weeks a year.

Perhaps we chase temporary melancholies, spinning them into nostalgia

And shoo away the memento mori of daily, dull, monotonous life.

Or is it simply that a fly will buzz in your face and land in your lunch

While a leaf looks pretty against a November sky?

Perhaps there is no difference at all.

They both crunch when you step on them.