Sunday, October 7, 2018

Leaf Me Alone

Every single one is different. Unique. Amazing. Beautiful.  How many times have you stopped to admire fallen leaves on the ground? I usually just step on them, step over them, peel them from my shoe or shake one off that sticks to my sock.  A nuisance rather something to be admired. Something to hold onto. Something to love.

I love the fall leaves. Each of the orange, yellow, bright green, red and sometimes flame colored leaves. I pause when I am on walks so I can gaze at them and take pictures of the trees.  I pull my car over to admire trees as they change color when I drive down the hill in Carver. I holler at the kids to stop what they are doing when we are together in the car. I want them to be able to behold the beauty of the changing leaves which has captured my eye.

When I was a teenager, there was a beautiful wildlife area one town over. I would go there with friends or even a date and take in the beauty that surrounded. I loved one particular area where there was a slight elevation with huge hundred year old pine trees on the left and gorgeous trees with a tapestry of colors on the right.  During one such adventure, I remember stopping the second I got out of the car.  I was in awe. I couldn't even step forward. With mouth agape, I was transfixed on the beauty of nature that stood before me.  My friend turned, and watched me, smiling. He knew. He knew I would react his way. He knew I would appreciate this spectacle and that is why he brought me there.

I am the one that picks up leaves. I am one that carries them with me. I am one that dries them in the sun and places them in the back of thick poetry books and spiral bound hard cover notebooks filled with short stories.  I am the one that wants to preserve the beauty.  I am one that wants my eyes to find the beauty in a leaf in the dead of winter. When the snow is piled high, when it is dirty from car exhaust and the frigid temperatures make me impatient for spring. I am the one who can recall the brisk wind and the sound it makes as I walk down the hill toward the park.  I am the one who wants to remember the beauty before it is soon gone.

This winter, if I hand you a bouquet of leaves, I am fully aware that it is an nontraditional offering.  But those leaves, those colors, that gift of beauty is the best gift that I can offer. I have dried them, pressed them, arranged them. Now given to you as a gift that you can enjoy hopefully as much as I do. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

I Was There To Hold His Hand

     Our dad is dying. He is in his final days. My sister Angela is doing an amazing job caring for him in her home. She is overseeing care,...