The air was soddenly warm that Thanksgiving morning in 2023, carrying a foreboding of climate change. Standing on the grounds of Ithaca High School, I couldn’t help but feel the incongruity of the unseasonable warmth. The annual “Turkey Trot” was unfolding around me, an event filled with cheerful camaraderie, yet beneath the surface of this tradition, the world itself seemed to whisper a warning. My attention drifted from the runners to the ground, where fallen leaves painted a story that echoed this uneasy tension.
The ginkgo leaves, their vibrant golden hues glowing against the damp grass, seemed almost out of place in the humid air. Ginkgos are ancient survivors, trees that have witnessed millennia of change, yet even they now face a future shaped by the rapid pace of human disruption. Their fan-like shapes, so delicate and timeless, carried an irony—symbols of endurance scattered on a landscape where the seasons no longer held the predictability they once did. That morning, their luminous beauty felt like a quiet plea, a reminder of nature’s fragility in the face of human indifference.
Among them, the sycamore leaves lay darker and more rugged, their broader forms curled and weathered by the elements. The sycamore is a resilient tree, often thriving in difficult conditions, yet its leaves bore a somber note against the warmth of the day. Together, the ginkgo and sycamore leaves formed a poignant tableau—a meeting of strength and delicacy, both subject to the same unrelenting forces of change. As I stood there, the leaves seemed to whisper their own story, a testament to survival amidst an increasingly uncertain world.
The Turkey Trot unfolded with its usual energy—children dashed ahead with gleeful abandon, adults paced themselves in cheerful determination, and older participants moved with quiet dignity. The warmth seemed to amplify the human vibrancy of the event, yet it also cast a shadow of dissonance. This race, this celebration of resilience and community, was happening against the backdrop of a world in flux. The warmth of the morning was a reminder that even cherished traditions like this might one day feel the strain of climate shifts.
I crouched to capture the leaves in a photograph, drawn by their interplay of color and form. The ginkgo leaves glimmered like gold coins scattered across the ground, while the sycamore leaves added a depth and weight that anchored the scene. Together, they reminded me of the cyclical nature of life, the beauty and decay that coexist within the same space. Yet this year, the warmth in the air added an unsettling layer to the story. These leaves, so central to the rhythm of seasons, were now falling in a world where those rhythms seemed increasingly disrupted.
As the sunlight broke through the clouds, it illuminated the edges of the ginkgo leaves, making them shimmer with an almost otherworldly light. I lingered in that moment, feeling the weight of its quiet truth: life is fleeting, but its beauty endures in the connections we foster and the memories we hold. That Thanksgiving, the humid warmth of the air reminded me that we live in a time of profound change, yet even amid uncertainty, there is still wonder to be found beneath our feet. It is a wonder worth preserving.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 