Leaves

The other day my eyes were drawn magnetically skyward,

for the glorious sun was shining, turning the sky a brilliant blue. Days of sunshine are far and few between in our cold snowy winters so when the sun is out I cannot help but walk face upturned reveling in the warmth I can feel, my skin infusing with much needed vitamins and breathing deeply of the crisp air. As I stare at the sky through the branches of my backyard tree I notice the dark barren branches silhouetted against the vibrancy of the cloudless sky and I am taken by its beauty.

It reminded me of a poem I had read;

‘I have always cherished the bare beauty of winter trees, so fractal and pulmonary against the somber sky — so skeletal, yet so alive. Anyone willing to look closely — and why be alive at all if not to relish the ecstasy of noticing, that crowning glory of our consciousness? — is rewarded with the gasping recognition that the branches are already covered in tiny dormant buds encoding the Braille promise of spring.’ Sundown Poem by Maria Popova 

As I look closer at the tree I notice that it still has quite a few leaves attached to the branches. I had not looked very closely all winter and had supposed that practically all the leaves were down and that only a handful remained, but I was wrong. The entire tree had random leaves still attached. As I focused on these leaves I wondered how they managed to stay on the tree as they appeared to be precariously and loosely dangling from the largely denuded branches. 

On a still day in fall the leaves can drop incessantly, sometimes covering our outdoor table while we eat on the deck, so how have all those leaves remained attached through the many brutal storms of winter that ravaged the tree with wind and heavy snow and ice? It appears that these leaves, while looking fragile, have a tenacious hold that will only break as new life and growth come and force their fall.

 I read an article recently about wintering describing all that is happening inside a tree or under the earth during the winter season – while we look around and see barrenness and what we believe is the absence of life or vitality. The first time I planted a garden I was sure that the winter had killed everything, convinced that I was left with dead twigs and vacant gardens. Then spring happened and this city girl couldn’t believe the transformation taking place, virtually before my eyes. My entire garden sprang to life. Things I planted had not only survived, they were thriving and grew larger than they had been the previous year! I couldn’t believe it.

 The whole earth, including my trees and garden, is designed to live and grow in cycles; following a pattern of birth, growth, maturity, death, rebirth and each cycle contributing to the ongoing growth. In fall the tree stops making food and the chlorophyll that provides the rich green of the leaves, breaks down. When it breaks down it allows the colours, that were always there in the leaf but usurped by the green, to be gloriously displayed – the reds, oranges, and yellows that beautify the fall landscape. The tree gradually weakens the cells that hold the leaves to the branch and ultimately severs the leaf from any access to water – so it turns brown, withers and falls off.  ‘Within a few hours, the tree will have released substances to heal the scar the leaf has left, protecting itself from the evaporation of water, infection or the invasion of parasites.’  Annie Dillard.

All this was amazing to me. As I continued to reflect on my tree so many thoughts came to mind. I realized that we are like the leaves. We are all different and all beautiful to start with. But just like people, the way the leaves ‘behave’ is different. Some can keep their nourishment a little longer, holding on to their green colour – while others can’t and as the chlorophyll and green leave truly beautiful colours waiting to dazzle are revealed. And then when the tree is moving into the next cycle, preparing for winter – the leaves are cut loose, free to fall, cut off of nourishment and their hold on the branch. While most just do what they do – they drop, let go, fall off – in huge numbers surrounding the tree with a glorious deep carpet of leaves, other leaves hold on and don’t drop until forced off the branch by a strong wind or winter snow.  While others, like the ones I observed, hang on until the very last – not letting go in their season or because of storm – but only when there is new life; the growing of the next cycle, the undeniable confirmation of spring. Perhaps these ‘hangers on’ are reminders to us that life continues, perhaps they remain on the tree to remind those who observe the barren branches that they contain life, which will manifest again in season. Perhaps they hang on in case new life doesn’t come, and they represent some resemblance of what was. 

As I thought of all the different ways that the leaves ‘fall’ it reminded me of the different ways that people respond to change in their lives. Some just ‘go with the flow’ and join the pile, some don’t change until something strong forces them to, while others hang on til the very last – until they can see the new coming.

During the past two years in this pandemic world we were all forced rather quickly into a wintering of sorts – a time of cessation, a shuttering down of life, and into isolation while we tried to rid our world of a virus. Some people were happy, at least for a bit, to let go of some of their busyness and routine.  Many, having the time to do so, did some re-evaluating, stock-taking of their lives and goals. As Katharine May put it ‘Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife.’ It was time to change priorities. This was a good thing. But after a while we realized this wasn’t a temporary pause or reprieve, this was much bigger and longer than anything we could have imagined. And what was before was gone, and we could not see any apparent signs of life…for a long time. Many are hoping for the return of a regular ‘springtime’ – where the new growth is the same as before, but undoubtedly the new crop might be different.

During this season many just went with the flow, like most of the leaves, and were staying home, waiting for the next season to come. Many talk of just letting go – of what was, that things will be a ‘new normal’. (though I am seriously tired of this phrase!)  And in a broad sense I suppose ‘new normal’ will be fairly accurate, for we as people have been forever changed by this – some more than others. Of course many components of our lives will go back to how they were much like the new leaves on the tree. Some people’s lives and livelihoods however will not survive the season and will have to start over – maybe a replanting of the same or maybe something entirely different. And how wonderful was it to see the brave and the innovative when cut off and shut down, rise up to help where they saw need – displaying what was inside them – like the leaves displaying their glorious colours in fall. Others didn’t have that capacity, it was enough to figure out how to carry on within their own household – and that is OK too. In fall, not every leaf or every tree breaks out in colour, and together it all still makes a truly beautiful landscape.

The way of trees, of life, of humanity, is to grow and change and release/die in an endless cycle. And we must all do this in our own time. Just like some leaves stay green longer, some display glorious colours, some fall early, others join the crowd, some stay longer but succumb to storm – while others hang on to the very end – which is really just another beginning. All of those are acceptable in nature and should be acceptable in humanity.  So it is OK if you, or I, are those leaves still clinging to the branch holding onto what was, just waiting to see real, growing, full and colourful life again.

And when this virus is under control or gone it will be up to us to finally let go and allow the next season begin. It may be difficult for many, a struggle to survive with poor conditions. We need to heal from wounds that were incurred from the letting go. But we will continue to do our best to thrive – to use the strength we gained in our ‘wintering’ for our ongoing growth; as individuals and as communities and nations.

And we need it - as we now, and will always, have new threats on this earth.

But we too are tenacious and resilient.

Seasons always change.

New life will come.

I can’t wait!