Most of the leaves on chestnut trees on the hotel terrace are still green, but a growing number of them are wilting at a clip as of late. Although the terrace is swept clean every morning by the hotel crew, many wilted leaves can be found all over it only a few hours later. Whenever I find myself on the upper square, I marvel at their profusion. In light breeze, their rustle is a joy, albeit in a macabre sort of way. Having dried up, the five leaves meeting at the stalk break apart, and so it seems that there are many more of them than at the height of the season. All around the terrace, bare stalks or petiole can also be found. All by themselves they look very like bones with joints bulging on both sides. The joint connecting the stalk to a stem on a branch of a tree is especially pronounced. It looks like a knee joint, too. Having collected a whole bunch of stalks this morning, I stared at them in the palm of my hand for quite a while. Bones for true. When I tossed them back onto the terrace floor, I smiled to myself. These must be All Saints’ Day thoughts.