When Leaves Leave
Notice some things you didn’t before? See your world in a new way?
Focus, I mean really suspend the constant chatter inside your head, hold the off button on your smartphone until it shuts down and turn your sensory system full on. Focus like laser.
I did this each of the last seven days. I sat in a camping chair half an hour before the sun came up until noon, in a quiet space under a very large spruce tree.
What a thing to experience unfolding and patting down a new day.
What struck me most were leaves falling. Some rocket down like those folded paper darts we threw to the front of high school class, some whirly-copter in tight pirouettes descending to no applause, and some took random paths of tumbling acrobats to the forest floor. Others gallop like greyhounds leap, leaping down the wind, some zip line from tree top to moss, some wander, some saunter.
All arrive down.
Leaves falling. I am aware leaves fall. Each year of my life leaves fall, in autumn. But today I saw leaves falling like never before.
A moment’s gust of wind blows golden confetti out across the forest and down to the floor. When the air is completely still leaves drop, one by one until the forest floor is a thick carpet of riotous colour.
The wind picks up and a storm of leaves blows down around me. I see two lithe young aspens bending wildly, hanging onto their leaves, the trees around them.