I have a habit of picking up every beautiful leaf on my morning walk. By the time I return home, I’ve got a rainbow of colors spread out in my gloved hand. If I take them inside, they’ll dry and crinkle so I tuck them neatly by the pumpkins to save for later.
Usually, there is no later. But my intentions were good, to paint, paint, paint every nook and cranny of those natural wonders. When I watch leaves falling from trees I am amazed at how happy they look. How carefree, they never look back.
I lost a dear friend of mine last year at this time. I missed her. I missed her and did not see her again. I was late. I watched a star go out two nights before when I prayed for her, but I didn’t listen. I called it coincidence.
But she is a good friend. And good things never truly go. I sense her still; in the falling leaves that tell me it’s okay to let go; in the falling leaves that say slow down and just ride for a while; and in the falling leaves that whisper you are beautiful. Still.
How can a tree let go of everything she has and not worry?
I have always found trees to be very trustworthy. They know that letting go is part of life. They know it is the beginning of renewal.
