On Falling

Among sunlight and trees, I bear witness to a mighty gust.

Its power makes holding on an impossibility,

and carelessly casts a thousand leaves simultaneously to earth.

How sad and unfair this must be,

for the fragile leaf, defenseless, forced to the ground.

I imagine a collective defeatist sigh,

an acknowledgment that this trip downward lies out of their control.

I wonder about them.

Why do they fight to hold on,

when their greatest moments,

those spent admired in fiery hues, have already passed?

It is hard to sit still as they desperately tumble, to be a bystander to their end.

And yet, even amidst the tragedy of this final phase,

I find myself, eyes open, mouth agape, in awe.

What exactly is this that I am witnessing?

Perhaps their worth stretches well beyond the wooden limb,

to a place of deeper beauty only made possible by the fall.

In the colors that shimmer against a backdrop of sky.

In the way they place their trust in the wind,

without knowing where it will lead them.

In the message they teach us all about the fragility of nature.

Or the manner in which they land atop the earth,

leaving a more fertile soil for the new buds of spring.

I watch these leaves, and I find truth.

That life is not defined only by the highest of moments,

by those of assumed purpose and safety from atop a lofty position.

The beauty of life, too, can be found, in those moments that are out of our control.
In those moments we fear most.
In the falling.