A Single Leaf
“Some things become beautiful just before they let go.”
There is something quiet
about a single leaf in autumn.
Among all the leaves still holding onto the branches,
one begins to change.
Green slowly gives way to gold.
Gold deepens into orange.
And orange becomes something warmer, almost like fire.
No one tells the leaf that autumn has arrived.
It simply knows.
For a while, it remains where it has always been.
Above the path.
Above the grass.
Moving gently whenever the wind passes through.
The world beneath it changes almost imperceptibly.
The days become shorter.
The air becomes colder.
The light arrives a little later each morning.
And the leaf becomes more beautiful.
Not because it is growing.
But because it is changing.
Perhaps this is what makes autumn so different.
Spring teaches us how to begin.
Summer teaches us how to grow.
A Quieter Question
Can we accept becoming something new,
even when it means leaving something behind?
One day, the wind will come.
The leaf will loosen its hold on the branch.
It may fall onto a quiet path.
It may drift into a river.
It may disappear among hundreds of other leaves.
But before that happens,
there is this moment.
A single leaf,
still hanging in the afternoon light.
Not holding on forever.
Not ready to leave.
Just quietly becoming what it was meant to become.
I used to think that falling meant the end of something.
Perhaps it is only another way of moving forward.
Some things have to let go
before they can become part of the season that comes next.
Some things become beautiful
just before they let go.