Each Leaf, a Life

Each time I go out to the woods with no specific purpose in mind, I am awed at how the universe creates a story for me to enter; a new memory, a theme and lesson to the experience. I open myself to wonder, and wonder never disappoints. This morning, I took an impromptu walk in the woods after I went to a coffee date with a new friend early in the morning. I’ve had a chaotic flurry of a month getting ready for my imminent trip overseas, so this was actually the first fully autumnal walk in the woods I’ve had the chance to take this year. And oh, the woods were on absolute fire with orange, red, yellow.

When I set out on a walk to appreciate the autumn forest, I really try to admire it on both a macro and micro level. I will lift my gaze to admire the trees glowing in the morning light, the blending of complimentary shades. And then I will drop my gaze to the ground, and stand in awe of the stunningly beautiful and artistic arrangements nature creates simply from leaves dropping to the ground next to mushrooms, on top of branches and moss.

But this morning, my moment of euphoria was unexpected. I found myself standing at the creek bed, where you have to cross on the slippery stones. The water was just a tiny trickle along one side of the furrowed ground, and all the river rocks were completely covered with a bed of autumn leaves. My thought had been to search for hagstones, but the idea was laughable under such a solid layer of fallen vegetation. So I walked down the center of the creek bed that’s normally covered in stream water, and sat down on a large rock, staring down the length of the channel.

I let time slow down as I gazed into the large open space. And suddenly I realized the weather and atmosphere were absolutely perfectly suited to watch a performance. The trees had all already lost enough leaves that when the occasional gentle wind danced through their tips, it didn’t cause a sudden flurry of falling. Instead, as I watched, each leaf seemed to take a turn. From my right eye I would see movement as one started to fall in a spiral pattern, slowly shifting a long way across to the left side of the gorge. Then another leaf would fall, tumbling top over bottom swiftly over and over again like an Olympic diver. Then at the center of my vision, another leaf in a random pattern, almost like the wings of a butterfly as it slowly, ever so slowly, came down.

It reminded me of how each snowflake has a different symmetrical pattern. No two dances of the leaves from their branch to the ground were the same, and each leaf seemed to want to make the most of its final, graceful or frenetic leap to the ground. I tried to pay equal attention to every single leaf that wended its way, but occasionally a dance was so beautiful I simply had to clap for the display.

Recently, an astrophysicist came to the library for a teen program I held. He told us all about the wonders and sometimes terrifying facts of our infinitely giant universe. Watching those leaves fall was like thinking of our lives in comparison to the larger cosmos. We are as small and insignificant as a leaf falling from an autumn tree in the grander scheme of the known. And yet somehow this thought wasn’t depressing to me. I watched each leaf, how singular they were, how they chose each unique and completely unrepeated dance, and I was more inspired to live my life as uniquely and singularly as I possibly can.