dead leaves

Where do these dead leaves come from? These dead, green-sucked, yellow leaves. Ghosts? I don’t believe in them in public. I can have long debates supporting their non-existence. The moment I walk a dark road, my arguments stop making sense to myself. I believe I could deny ghost’s existence only in public to public, not to myself, lonely.
There is this strange whiff suggesting somebody else’s presence. I often avoid it, or maybe I pretend doing it, maybe nobody can. Sometimes the whiff keeps returning to me making the presence more physical or rather strong. My thoughts avoidingly start chasing the unknown but my eyes are hooked on my legs and their gradually increasing pace. The presence consciously tries to avoid my eyes not my ears. Ears pioneer themselves to hear the breathing of dead stones, dead leaves, trees and the deafening consciousness of the other. I can understand now why dead leaves lie there all morning? to make sense in the night, to make other’s presence mildly louder and to sink my heart deeper.