A season of change

There is a large maple in my front garden.  It’s a beautiful tree with branches like thick powerful arms.   It stands taut like a statue as its leaves now the colours of a glorious sunset escape with the gentlest breeze.  Ever so softly they flutter like tiny flags on a string of autumnal bunting.  

I close my eyes and I can hear the tree as it pops and crackles, seed pods flinging themselves to the ground, leaves lost in their final dance. The sun is warm on my back, the sky cerulean blue.

My inner child is awakened (I do like waking her) as I walk through the fallen leaves. Who doesn’t remember doing that? What’s a walk in autumn without experiencing the pleasure of swishing through puddles of abandoned leaves? Somehow, in this place I hear the rustle of silk taffeta at my feet.

I have two special women in my life moving away soon - a precious sister and a very dear friend.  How can it be that I too am deciduous?

Of all the seasons, autumn is the one that counsels me to accept change and see beauty in it. I wish I could be like this maple with my arms held out about me, strong yet flexible, comfortable moving with the wind even when sometimes the things I treasure most are fluttering. I see their changing hue, I prepare for their departure.