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