All the Pretty Leaves

Today, under the pretense of heading to campus to finish up some much needed editing on the final sounds for the show I'm designing, I took my camera for a walk. Provo is so beautiful this time of year. It is interesting to me that the two seasons when the world is most alive with color are springtime and fall--the birth and the death of nature.

Leaves, I think, die with more grace than any other living thing. There is nothing so graceful and perfectly beautiful as an expiring leaf, glowing with a short fire of color, floating down with the chilled breeze, the edges slowly drying, browning, dying. Most plants die suddenly at the turn of the seasons, conquered in a moment by a frozen breath of coming winter . Leaves die slowly, letting us watch their lifeblood seep out until only the crunchy brown shell remains. I don't know about everyone else, but I never really notice leaves until they begin to change color. It's as if they're reminding the world,
"Look! I was here. Don't forget me--the weather will change and I'll be coming back."

Autumn seems to me to relate an awful lot to people. There are times when, after having a view from the top for a while, suddenly the weather changes and we feel gusts that we can't control pick us up for a moment before, twirling, spinning, tumbling dizzily, we fall. And then, sitting there amongst the heap of others who have fallen, we begin to realize that we all must fall. The seasons change for all of us. And there is a way to fall with grace, with color and beauty, lifting those around us, even as we plummet ourselves.

There is not, after all, a season so full of hope as fall. From the bottom, already curling and feeling some of the color of success or ease or happiness begin to fade, we look around and remind the world, "Look! I'm still here. Don't forget me--The weather will change and I'll be coming back up."