The nights grow longer, the air cooler, leaves change color and migrating birds
make their way south - fleeing winter. Fall is almost here - my favorite time of
year. A walk through the forest - a trip to an art gallery. The trees compete,
each a work of nature’s glorious art.
A canopy of color shades me, as I stand under them. I look up and see sunlight
streaming through the branches. It strikes each leaf. They reflect it with an
un-imaginable brilliance.
In the quiet of the forest, I hear a small snap, and a single leaf floats
delicately to the ground. A light breeze stirs the branches - a multicolored
snow storm. The colored flakes land on my head and shoulders. They cover the
seeds and nuts the trees dropped earlier in the year, some with small sprouts
already reaching toward the sky.
The seeds of new life are soon buried under a cover of delicate and dying
leaves, a cover provided by the tall trees standing over them. The leaves
protect the future from the cold winter soon to follow. In spring, the leaves
will decompose and provide rich nutrients to nourish the young - insuring a new
generation.
A week later I’m back, trying to enjoy the season before it is gone. The leaves
rustle under my feet. The air is scented with the odor of dampness and
decomposition, as the leaves begin to decay - a pleasant smell. I shuffle along,
pushing the leaves in front of me. They part and swirl around my feet like the
water on a beach. My heart is heavy.
Another year is gone.
At home, I look in the mirror. There’s a hint of grey at my temples. I notice a
few more in the whiskers on my chin and a few chest hairs are following suit.
The hair on the top of my head, like the leaves, are mostly gone. I’m in the
fall of life. Can winter be far off?
I sat in my chair, trying to watch a game on television, but I couldn’t focus.
Where did my spring and summer go?
My son walked by. He is a tall, healthy, and good looking young man. “See ya,
Dad. I’m going to work.” The door closed behind him.
I thought of the trees, the seeds and nuts, the leaves, my children and
grandchildren. Like the trees, I spread my seeds and protected them as they grew
from seeds, to sprouts, to tall, strong saplings.
The trees and I have weathered many storms. We swayed and bent under their
force, but we stood over our young, sheltered them, and covered them when they
were cold.
My heart felt lighter. Fall is not the beginning of the end. It is the past
protecting the future. One day, a storm will blow in and we’ll topple over -
winter. The young we sheltered, free of our shadow, will take our place to
protect the next generation - our job complete.
Michael T. Smith
mtsmith@qwestonline.com
The Illustrator: This daily newsletter is dedicated to encouraging
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