There is a large Maple tree in our front yard that has yet to fully shed its leaves, but it’s a matter of days.
From my home office, this view frames my window with life, movement and colour and I know that soon, I will miss those leaves.
Whether it’s a bright sunny day, or a moody overcast version, that tree is alight with golden leaves, tinged with crimson edges, as if a red marker’s ink has bled through the yellow paper.
Sometimes, the rich red flares out across the expanse of the leaf before it freefalls to the ground and lands face up, unique in the crowd, no two the same. Not cast-off but shed to feed the earth.
Well, not on our lawn. The Carpenter has been chasing the leaves with a blower and scraping them up with a rake, grinding some into the flower beds, or mulching them with a lawn mower before stuffing them into giant paper bags he sets on the edge of our curb for the waste truck to load up.
It’s like he has a personal vendetta against these beautiful leaves.
I’m sure there is a good reason for all this leaf gathering. Our neighbours will be glad I’m not in charge of this task or we’d be that house that let the leaves lie where they lie and let the wind have at it. The Carpenter is clearly the better neighbour.
About a week ago, I noticed a clump of leaves held together beneath a large limb of the tree, suspended in mid air as if held in the balance of an invisible thread. A spider’s web, thick and strong.
My first thought: I don’t want to see that spider.
Second thought; how beautiful that collection of leaves looked just blowing gently in the wind, huddled together as if a pack of friends sitting on a swing. I stopped to admire the perfectly imperfect gift of this moment. I believe you have to appreciate the little things. Pay attention. There’s a message here. A sign, if you are open to it.
As the week went on, life rustled up some challenges. I love October, but it always stirs up a range of emotions – the kind of things you can’t rake up and stuff in a paper bag for someone else to cart away. You have to gather them all up, leap into the pile and see where you land. Freefall.
Hold on through the rain, the wind, the light. Grant gratitude with every lesson. Even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones. Honour it all. Have faith you’ll land where you’re meant to.
The clump of leaves in the spider’s web dwindled every day until there was just one. Alone. It twirled and twisted like an acrobat performing aerial artistry on silk ribbons. In the breeze, it danced. On the windy days, it ballooned like a sail on a boat. In the rainfall, it bowed like an umbrella. In the stillness, its edges curled. It defied gravity with stoic grace for days. One little leaf. Holding on for dear life. But holding on all the same.
One morning, the leaf was gone. Yet our daily silent exchange was enough to remind me that it’s okay to shed the things that need to be shed, to trust the freefall and to twirl in the light even as you fight the gravity of a situation.
Hold on. Let go.
Have faith.
Welcome November.
