The Falling Leaves

Yes, indeed. It’s that time of year. The vista along the Mississippi River is at its peak of color. I take in the full view and daily assess the changes as I cross the river on my way to work. What a treat to be viewing this fine art show: bright greens reside alongside fading yellows, burnt oranges cohabitate with flame reds (how shocking!) and all of them rest against a backdrop of browns and beiges. It’s a vision of color and texture. Copied by artists for ages, this beautiful palate of colors was created long before there were human eyes to attempt its reproduction.

This autumn there’s been little wind so as each tree divests itself of its leaves they fall straight down and remain there under the canopy of half-empty braches. The trees look a bit discombobulated for the moment but when the remaining leaves finally do scatter the classic frame of articulated joints and limbs will stand out regally against the winter skies. For now, I imagine myself laying down under one of those gracious statues taking a moment to enjoy the beauty of the day. This is where I find peace- in the space where connection resides- and I revel in it when it occurs.

Life for the leaves was almost weightless before, tethered to a branch high in the canopy floating in currents of wind. Compared to the lilting life they experienced only yesterday they must be confused at the heaviness of life on earth. It’s a weighty thing being here. Now their only flight comes from being tumbled around like so much sand and shells at the edge of a beach; the safety of being moored to a tree to weather out any storm is gone. Yet for those leaves who always longed to grab their boogie board and catch a big wave, this is their time to experience the thrill of the ride! (Look, Ma! No hands!)

Their inevitable fall to earth makes for one of the best treats of the season: the wade through them. It’s very satisfying to hear the swish-swash swish-swash as I shuffle through the dried leaves. It’s one of my favorite fall sounds of all time and something I make a special point to do each year. The stockpiles can usually be found gathered up along a curb or nestled beside a wall. If it’s a good deep pile there will undoubtedly be a stowaway leaf that get tucked up in a pant leg or whose stem gets somehow wheedled into a sock. Come along for the ride, I say!

Speaking of rides, this week marks the second anniversary of the surgery to remove the cancer cells from my left breast and accompanying underarm lymph nodes. It looks rather daunting written out on the page like that; sometimes it feels that way, too. In some ways it seems as if it has been both six months and twelve years simultaneously since that surgery. How that’s possible I can’t clearly explain but that’s how it feels.

I have been tearing up at the thought of how much my life has changed in these past two years. In spite of all I built up around me to prove to my questioning mind that I’m in charge here, the truth is that life is unknowable. It’s a gamble. We shake the dice- their feint clacking in our clenched hand sounding a call to the ages- and hope for the best. It’s only after the dice are thrown free from their cage of bones and flesh that the lesson is visible: life happens when we let go.

So let go and trust. Know that in letting go- in flinging my hands wide open- a space is being created for something new. In the face of uncertainty and fear, trust all will be well. It’s quite the doozy of a lesson and yet in these past two years it has been an almost constant companion reminding me again and again (and again) to get comfortable with not knowing. I'm doing my best to breathe and be open to the possibilities.

Life happens in a blink- keep your eyes closed and you’ll miss the beauty. Autumn, really, is here for just a day. For as many vibrant leaves as there are now in the trees there are more are on the ground. The trees let the leaves go because it is time to let go. That’s a wonderful thing about nature: it always knows its cue and exits as written. And then, this year, before all the leaves have had a chance to take their leave, act four begins with an entrance of heavy, wet snow…

Peace,
Karen