Changing Leaves

"I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end." ~Jo March, Louisa May Alcott, Little Women.

A few years ago, I upgraded to a new-to-me, used iPhone. 

The camera was better, the storage slightly larger for my obsessive hobby of taking photos of things that caught my eye during walks. 

(Let me be honest, it happened far too often, but then again, it's who I am!)

My friend's husband jokingly asked if it came with a photo album of leaves, or something along those lines. To his credit, it was a witty and hilarious joke that reflected a reality and truth, that all who were present knew very well...Sheena sure loved to post photos of leaves.

I can't help it, my breath catches and I want to document the moment, the transition and to share it with others. 

The difference between today and tomorrow is everything in this season. 

So, I don't want to miss this moment, this beauty found in transition and the unfolding of the coming days. 

*Snap* 

I take photos, because I am overwhelmingly compelled to. 

Why do I find such incredible wonder and beauty in something seemingly common?

It's just a leaf that's dying. 

In truth, I don't know the answer. 

Every year feels like the first time I am taking in the wonder of the world that is glowing in golden hues, greens, yellows, oranges and reds

As another autumn is upon us, I found myself pulling my bicycle over to the side of the road to look up and admire the way the trees were changing.

So as I do, I take a photo...or several that I intend to decide between, but never can. 

I love that even something as common and as simple as a leaf has been created with such intention and care. 

That it matters, even if we don't stop to appreciate it.

It carries on becoming and being what it was designed to be. 

Such a small simple thing has the power to give me pause.

To reflect on the truth that I too, am created by the same hands that thought leaves deserved to live in seasons and unfold in new ways with each one.

If you look closely, you will see a detailed, intricate unique beauty to each leaf.

And the way the rays of sunlight shine upon it, or the shadows conceal it, will enhance, soften or reveal wonder easily missed.  

Like you and I.

Autumn.

There is something comforting about seasons. 

A knowing that each season has its time and its end. 

Yet it holds a promise.

It's not forever. 

Life may alter, change, be fruitful or dormant, isolated, bare and cold.

BUT...New life, new growth and new seasons are still possible. 

You and I may have seasons that feel strained and disappointing. 

Perhaps there is too much rain and not enough sun. 

There may be seasons of balance and fruitfulness, of beauty and growth.

We know that each year provides us with another spring, summer, autumn and winter. 

And there is infinite possibility and hope in each one, as each new year rolls around.

New life may be found, death may happen but the truth is, life will continue to unfold in many shapes and colors in their time.  

Not only is there comfort to be found in the dependency of literal seasons, but also in the revelation they each hold.

Trees.

This past June, a literal storm rolled in on the last day of what had been three months of strict quarantine, confined to our homes.

High winds and rain, combined with other factors brought down many tree limbs and full trees whose seasons had been lived in their completion. 

And 'my' tree became one of those trees whose seasons would be no more. 

Snapping in half, it came down and my heart broke a little more.

The past three months of isolation had brought their challenges and disappointments in great quantities and in truth my heart was tender. 

Hearing the news that my tree was gone felt like a bit more than I could bear.

Childhood days had been spent climbing up it and playing below it. 

It sheltered me from the harsh heat of the summer sunshine, offered branches for us to climb up and adventure to heights that provided new perspectives. 

We would wave to our grandparents, who looked out the window as we played, delighted that we would take the time to spend at their home.

'My' tree provided a sanctuary, a shelter and a place of peace.

I loved waiting with anticipation each spring for traces of life to make their presence known once again. I relished the sweetness of spring as the leaves became vibrant green and of summer as they appeared lush and full creating shade to cool all in its shadow. 

And when it's limbs had been trimmed back, it afforded us the chance to make a swing.

Summer days, lonely days, sunsets and rainfalls, I sat on my swing.

I sat on my swing in prayer and in quite reflection as the heaviness of life's decisions felt too much. Or when I longed to spend time in thanksgiving for all I had. 

Even in winter, beauty was found in the rich depth of it's textured weathered bark. 

I'd gazed longingly at my swing from my grandparent's window knowing it would only be a short time before life would begin to form from the trees limbs.

This year my tree is gone. 

This year has felt like a lot of losses. 

My dad and his brothers cleaned up the tree. 

My uncle cut slices of the limbs and he gave me the piece that held my swing, where the tree had grown around the rope. 

I know it's just a tree and that it's seemingly insignificant and not worth mentioning considering the devastating losses of so many.

But I think it is more a symbol, a representation of the seasons in our lives and the losses that we cannot escape.

As I stop and look up at the canopy of changing leaves: as I close my eyes and feel the wind and hear the rustling of the leaves: I am once again reminded and take comfort in the changing seasons and the confidence I have that spring and summer will return once again.