The sun was slowly fading towards the West as the last laurel branches fell on the ground with a soft rustling sound.
My job for the day was almost done, having given back some geometric respectability to the door-shaped passage in that wall of perfumed leaves.
The tall hedge was indeed the same plant much coveted by the poets of old, but in the dimming sun of October a sense of longing pervaded the amicable evergreen in lieu of the honors of days long gone.
I loaded the rusty wheelbarrow with a bunch of branches and leisurely made my way towards the tree grove that lay beyond the laurel hedge, behind the iron gate just to the left of the old grey barn.
The birch trees were evenly spaced, although lightly intertwined at the top, creating a sparse canopy from which the first dead leaves were falling to the muddy ground.
The wheelbarrow was to be unloaded halfway the grove in-between tree lines in order to allow the severed boughs to rot and enrich the soil during the winter, and so it was.
On the way back, I stopped to pick up a dry, sturdy birch branch that looked like good fireplace fodder, loaded it into the wheelbarrow and made my way to the woodpile near the gate.
The moment I unceremoniously threw it towards the pile, I heard the deep coo of a bird coming from deep inside the grove.
The noise seemed to mourn the end of summer and the death of the sun at once and I stood still for a few seconds waiting to hear from the wise winged friend again, but no sound came from the trees and I trudged on to haul a second batch.
This latter bunch of laurel branches was dumped parallel to the former, only the off-white trunk of a birch separating them, when I noticed another birch bough fit for the fire and readily picked it up to be delivered to the woodpile.
I was a few meters from my destination when I heard a clear voice calling “Marco!”: it was indeed my name sifting through the air from an indefinite point around me.
I froze, more puzzled than scared, and rationalized the strange voice as one of the neighbors loudly calling to a friend.
It was almost dinner time after all, and the mundane ritual of welcoming and fare welling was a likely explanation.
As I lifted the branch to throw it on top of the woodpile, the voice came back from behind:
“Is that a little gift for me?”.
The tone was slightly condescending, as if the voice belonged to an old crone speaking to a child, and it was accompanied by an indistinct rustling and fluttering.
A quick look behind reassured me that nothing was skulking among the trees and I hastily made my way to the other side of the wall of laurel to complete my task.
I entered the grove for the third time, scanning my surroundings with every step until I was a few meters before the first heap of laurel I made and there I dispatched the last bunch of tangled branches in fearful defiance of symmetry.
To my relief, the only sound coming from the grove was the light trampling of birds from the canopy above.
While walking back for the last time that day, I found myself looking at the milky sky pervaded by timid tangerine hues: everything seemed at peace and sunset was soon going to bathe the land in its fierce orange light.
My eyes were still fixed on the sky when I heard two deep, consecutive coos coming from behind me.
I turned around and saw an indistinct, fuzzy gray shape hopping between the trees at the far end of the grove.
Atop the fuzziness, which I perceived having a plumed quality as the rotund thing drew near, two big, round, white eyes were fixed on me.
The common sense of not meddling with the unknown bested my curiosity and I lurched myself towards the gate, latching it with trembling hands before hurrying home as the mysterious being cooed in the distance.
I worked in the grove many a day since then, and the creature never showed up again.
I restricted my toiling there to the morning, for the most idle of afternoons managed to light a sense of unease inside my heart since the encounter.
On the odd autumn evening, when the burning tinges of sunset are rampant in the sky, its deep, funereal call can still be heard.