Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Deuteranopic Fall

I have a condition.  It is a medical condition and it is called deuteranopia.  It has been with me since birth, and affects me every second of every day.  Most of the time it doesn't register, having grown accustomed to its effects.  Sometimes though, like on a sunny autumn day like today, it sits perched on the top of my brain like a dragon on its horde.

It is a day that seems so ripe with seasonal change, like a big cold sponge saturated with 'fall' got wiped across the city.  I could feel it while I was in the shower, before I even looked outside.  The window was open and let it all pour in, cold dry air mixing with hot steam.  It got me thinking of the seasons, it got me thinking of leaves.

Out the door and on my way to the store, I pass the two maple trees that stand guard outside my apartment building.  They are getting ready for winter.  Their leaves are changing color from green to what could be red or orange.  I don't know exactly what green is, or red, or orange, but I do know this is happening.  This is my deuteranopia at work.  I'm color blind.  I don't see the leaves as green in the summer, nor do I see them as whatever color they may be today.  I know the leaves are green in summer, and I know they are not green today.  Knowing the difference comes from education, not experience.  There is a difference.

Looking at the leaves and concentrating on what it looks like, I decide that though I can't see the color change, I can hear it.  The way the leaves gently shake sounds more brittle, just like the air.  A spring breeze is like a child dashing out of a porch door to go play, where as a fall breeze is more of an old woman settling tighter into a blanket.

Yep, an orange leaf sounds different than a green leaf.  Not for the first time in my life, I've heard color instead of seen it.

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