07 November 2005
If I were a leaf saying, "Yes," to the wind as it asked me to let go, I think I'd still ask a few questions:
Why is it that some of us fly through the air and land on soft green grass, painting someone's lawn in shades of autumn? Why is it that others of us land on the asphalt for tire wheels to roll over us or blow us next to curbsides where we commune with crushed cans and cigarette butts? And what about me? I'm going where you send me, but will my landing be soft and beautiful? Will I be the delight of a small child jumping into the fall, tossing us into the air? Or will you send me to the hard places--a fall people hardly notice at all as they admire the beauty of the season?
Of course, I'm not a leaf. I ask similar questions, however, to my Wind as I'm asked to let go. I hold tight to the branches, begging for answers before I move. Sometimes I move, and sometimes I cling to what was because uncertainty has never been my dear friend.
All leaves eventually says, "Yes." I will learn from their wisdom.