Falling or Floating

This morning I was getting some work done upstairs in my office when I was struck by the beauty outside my window. It was a gorgeous, crisp, sunshiny Autumn day. The wind was gusting with a fair bit of force so leaves were swirling and floating down from the trees in my backyard by the dozen.

It struck me how strangely beautiful it was to watch. The leaves were brown and burnt orange, crinkly, crunchy, dying. On the trees they weren't much to look at, but their descent was breath-taking. They twirled and dived gracefully in the breeze. Rather than falling they appeared to be floating. Once they hit the ground their individuality was lost--but on the way down, their final dance was a grand finale.

I thought about it from the trees' perspective. (I know...it is a stretch, stick with me...) Each Spring, fresh, green growth occurs. You are drenched by rains, warmed by the sun, tested by winds and grow towards the light. Then Fall arrives. Your color starts to change--sometimes into bright, vibrant hues you never even knew you had in you--until the cool breezes start to blow. Your leaves hold on as long as they can and then one day, inevitably, they fall.

You go through the coldest season with your limbs that were once lush and full now barren and exposed. Why couldn't you just pause in any of those more bautiful seasons and stay there forever--revelling in new growth, gorgeous hues?

It is the cycle of life.

And while the changing of the seasons might terrify the one who is shedding, watching pieces fall away, from the perspective of the one who is looking through the window it does not appear random. It seems synchronized and even beautiful. For the one watching knows that there is truth in this world. Some things can be counted on. Time marches on. There is hope. In the Spring there will be new growth--but only because the old has passed on.

(And, no, I did not find it a coincidence that my window left me watching all this through a cross. That perspective changes everything.)