This is my first attempt at writing a fanfiction and I am not a native speaker, so please be merciful!
Comments and criticism are welcome! In other words: "Reid & review, please!"
Prompts: eerie, fall, harp (thanks to Draugwen :-) )
Oh, and I obviously don't own anything!
_
As Leaves Wither and Fall
Prologue: Leaves
How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and colour are their last days.
~John Burroughs
Fall was a time of harvest, a time of merriment – but also a time of death. The Celtic year ended with the death of the Sun-God Cernunnos on the last day of October; a holiday that was in modern times known as All Hallows' Eve or Hallowe'en. The wheel of the year was a mirror of all life – people were born, lived, withered and died, just like everything in nature. A process that infinitely repeated. And just like birth, death was irrevocably a part of life. But even though people had learned to acknowledge this fact, they had never quite been able to accept it.
Dr. Spencer Reid quietly watched as a colourful leaf soundlessly tore free from a branch and spiralled towards the ground, was picked up by a gust of wind only to join its brethren shortly afterwards. It was in the early morning hours of a Sunday in late October and the world was covered in a thick layer of fog that seemed to muffle every sound until the silence was almost deafening.
Unable to catch up on his much-needed sleep, the young FBI agent had eventually given up tossing around in his bed, left his small apartment and ventured into the park. The sun was only just about to rise, hidden behind a solid layer of clouds, illuminating the world in an eerie light. It was hard to make out any clear shapes and a lot was left to the imagination. A damp chill made Reid shiver, as he sat on a park bench, a book lying open and – for once – unregarded in his lap.
The rest of the city had yet to resume its noisy tasks, which allowed him to find a moment of peace in this calm before the storm as he liked to call it. Lost in thought, his gaze trailed off, not focussing on anything in particular. His co-workers had more than once wondered what twisted trails and paths his brilliant mind trod when he dwelled in his own world, something that would forever be a mystery to them.
The scenery was almost surreal. At this moment, Reid could easily comprehend why generations of people had worshipped nature as divine, why people were willing to believe in the supernatural and the magical. Where Shakespeare got his ideas for his plays. What inspired Grieg to compose all these queer songs about trolls and dwarves. He had to admit that – no matter what his own beliefs were – the sheer beauty of this moment, the electrifying force of nature, was worth worshipping. Not that there was any truly untouched nature in this park in Quantico, Virginia, but imagination was a powerful tool, a weapon even, and even though Spencer was a man of intellect and reason, he had never fully given up dreaming. He was painfully jolted out of his thoughts when the loud beeping of his phone pervaded the air. A call at this time of the day on a Sunday could only mean one thing. And it would not be pleasant.