Celebration of the Seasons

It is that time of year when the beech and poplar and dogwood trees in my front yard turn a golden hue. The sun's reflection off their leaves floods the evening with thick, honeyed air. It seems as if just down the road, the air gets thicker still, and you can taste the sweetness of honey suspended on colored droplets.

I witness one my favorite joys of fall from my office window. All summer long, the leaves have grown, turned deepening shades of green, and spied the ground from many stories up. Secure in their slendor but stalwart attachment to their branches, they witnessed the warmth and storms of summer safe from their arboreal perch.

But after all those months, the time for their great migratory adventure has come: the fall cascade of the leaves from tree limb to ground cover is here. Throughout the day, they fall, one by one. But on occasion, there is a grand rustling, like a murmur moving through a crowd.

And then it begins: the rain of leaves. The air is filled with floating, golden flotsam, turning and waving in an earth-toned ticker-tape parade, the leaves rustling their hurrahs for the passing glories of summer. Then, when the air is spent and all tuckered out, ground and leaf finally meet for the first time since eyeing each other way back last spring. All then becomes quiet. The leaves settling in, cozying down in communion with the ground.

In the midst of a weary world, torn apart by human blunders, it is comforting, indeed healing, to see this annual celebration of the seasons, by the seasons. Kudos and bravo. And many heartfelt thanks.