This is my favorite time of year. The colors and aromatic scents of autumn are exhilerating to me. I know when I begin to see the great bear's blood upon the leaves, that they will soon be making their departure from the branches that hold and support them.
It is the fallen leaves that touch my heart so.
Each has a story.
Each has a truth.
Each has a sacred purpose.
The trees do not drop these leaves because they are worthless and no longer useful.
These leaves provided nourishment and shelter;
they were homes and resting places.
Each leaf touched another life somehow.
As the leaves begin to fall, the trees do not cast them away as
yesterday's glory, but rather they freely release the leaves to dance
upon the wind so they may add to their story, and touch even more
with their truth and sweet purpose, in their return to the earth mother.
They are not severed from the branches that once held and
supported them, but rather, free to fly, allowing the tree time
to rest for the bringing forth of new leaves who will have divine
destinies of their own. It is a beautiful and delicate cycle.
The leaves themselves may be dead,
but never their truth and never their purpose.
They simply live on in other ways.
For what is a story, if it is not shared?
And what is a truth if it is selfishly held on to?
The trees release the leaves to be a continued blessing.
Every leaf I see touches my heart in its own way as I remember its story
and recognize the blessing of its present reality
as it journeys on its sacred mission to winter places.
For as the earth nods off in winter slumber,
within the fallen leaves,
there rests sweetly the plants and animals
which will emerge again in the spring.
The leaves tell us in their own colorful way ...
if you have a story, tell it;
if you have a truth, share it;
if you have a purpose, do it ...
for these are the things that endure and live on.