The Way of the Leaf

As the cold wanes and sunlight prevails we branch forth from brittle branches peering into a world foreign and beautiful and frightening.

This is the cacophony of birth.

As the sunlight warms the hearth of soil and the rains sprinkle life upon the foundations of our homes we begin to grow and reach further toward the heavens beckoning from beyond the clouds. We learn to trust the wind and we grow.

This is the magic of childhood.

On whimsical and newfound bravery we gather the rays of the sun and push our roots deeper into the rich soil below us. Ever reaching toward the stars we can feel ourselves making a difference and furthering our cause.

This is the beauty of adulthood.

As the nights grow longer and the winds gain speed, we feel our grip on the night sky slipping. We hold on and we pay the price as our colors vibrantly reflect our struggle. We have reached higher than we ever imagined that we could.

This is the uncertainty of aging.

Our grips on our structures slip as our branches become more brittle. We can’t hold on much longer. The winds beckon to us to take flight and we realize that this, now, is the journey that we have been waiting for. We take to the winds and travel onward into the richness of the soil below. Time goes on and we become the soil itself. In doing so we realize, that we are nourishing the future into existence by the ceasing of our own.

This is the grace of death.

We see the sun and the rain, the wind and the ice. We live in order for others to carry on that same legacy.