Fall Leaves Fall

 

The Secret Life of Leaves

Here in New England, the annual influx of leaf peepers is well under way. Who could deny anyone the pleasure of the blazing bounty of glorious colors Fall produces; the endless waves of deep red, rich gold, and bright orange punctuated by leaves drifting lazily down to the waiting ground to form carpets of resplendent, crisp color? All of this happens on its own unpredictable schedule, as it always does and should when Mother Nature is in charge.

As flocks of peepers trek into woods, up mountains and on lakes to observe this glorious show, few realize that deep inside the fragile veins of each leaf lies a mystery that reveals itself every fall: the rich splendor of color we so long to witness is quite often the natural colors of the leaves! Leaves are like tiny factories that, during the spring and summer months, produce a chemical at the molecular level called chlorophyll. This is the pigment that interacts with sunshine to cause the leaf to appear green. This process, which provides valuable food to the leaf, is called photosynthesis.  

When there is plenty of sunlight, leaves produce lots of chlorophyll and photosynthesis occurs constantly; thus producing the green color of leaves. During the fall when sunlight begins to shorten and fade, trees are smart enough to shift their energy stores to survive the upcoming winter. They slow down the production of chlorophyll until the leaf reverts back to what is its natural color - red, orange, yellow, or in some cases, green. Trees don't have enough energy to feed all the leaves, so energy again gets shifted to sustaining the tree at the expense of the leaves which cascade down to the ground. 

When you observe the shift to brilliant colors, you're actually observing the brilliant, natural process that gives trees the best chance of surviving harsh winters. Does Mother Nature never cease to amaze? 

Could we use this transitional, colorful season as an opportunity to reflect on our own ever-changing lives? Where do you expend your limited energy in order to survive? What transitions do you need to make to emerge as your colorful, authentic self? 

Passing By

 

I was sitting out on the deck when these two sailboats passed by. There was something amazing about the setting sun and how it's light almost paved the water in gold. I was fortunate to grab the shot just at the right moment. 

It got me to thinking about how we're all really just passing by in this life. Like these sailboats, these breathtaking moments are brief, sometimes far and few in between. The boats were out of sight within minutes. But while they were there, everything in the Universe, the sun, the water, their silhouettes, fell into place. I watched the boats pass by enraptured by the beauty the scene presented, but it was short-lived. Was I disappointed after they sailed out of sight? Not at all. I was very grateful to have witnessed such a breathtaking passage.

We shouldn't always focus on moments that take our breath away. Appreciate them, yes. Show gratitude, yes; but if we don't forget to appreciate the little moments -- like bees landing on flowers and acorns plunking down from oaks -- we run the risk of letting everything around us that is glorious, and it is, pass us by...

Sitting Together in the Quiet

Sitting together in the quiet,

Not the silence,
Which I know brings you much discomfort...

For you fill your head with noise to drown out awful things.
Is it the scream of the red fox you’d prefer?
Or the haunting wails of the loon?
Or the alarm of the mockingbird?

While you seek the comfort of disquiet,
I do this one thing.

I listen.

                                  -- Bird Dee

Are You Comfy, Deer?

I glanced out the kitchen window only to be startled by a strange sight. At first I thought it was a mound of dirt, which made no sense.

Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a deer sitting down, snuggled into one of the remaining goldenrod patches. I quickly grabbed my phone and binoculars and slid over to the slider leading out to the deck to get a better look. She was well-aware of my presence because, as usual, Ellis followed right behind and began begging to go out on the upper deck. 

I slowly opened the slider door and he immediately snuck out and ran to the deck railing yelping and whining to be allowed to go out and play with this new friend. The deer watched me, motionless, carelessly glancing my way as if to say, "I come here often. This is my yard, too." 

I edged my way slowly out the door and Ellis and I stood on the upper deck, which is no more than one-hundred feet away from where the deer sat, and just watched. Its coat was darker than most of the other deer that visit. I've seen it in its herd not too long ago. 

Despite Ellis whining and my taking pictures of it, the deer stood its ground, lapping any remaining warmth from the sun before enduring the colder night temperatures. As time passed, I began to wonder if it was injured, so I went downstairs and slowly edged out the basement door, leaving a very dejected Ellis behind. 

As I opened the basement door, it alerted. Its head rose a bit and it cocked its ears forward. My intent was not to chase it off, but to confirm that it wasn't hurt. I slowly walked towards it, pausing between steps, and as I closed the gap between us, it finally stood up on its long legs and gave me a "humph," as if to say, "Fine, you win, but I'll be back."

And it will and I will celebrate its arrival each and every time...

Abundance

As Fall beckons, I try to spend as much time outside as possible before the weather snaps. What wonders this changing world holds! All I need to do is to sit quietly outside (as quietly as I can while Ellis is by my side sniffing around and chasing every moving thing), and the world comes to me in abundance. 

Today, I watched a colony of bees gathering up nectar as heartily as they could from the remaining patches of goldenrod. The woods hummed with their gentle buzz as they flitted from one stem to the next. What do I look like to them? An intruder? An observer? A co-conspirator?

Then I spotted a dark-eyed junco up in the trees. It watched me with its hooded head cocked to one side. "What is your purpose?" I wondered needlessly. 

Their purpose? To provide a cycle of continual, natural life. To force us to stop and appreciate, even for just a moment, the abundance of treasures presented to us, but only if we take the time to do so. You can rush through life and never see glorious things, or you can stop, pause, breathe, and listen. That's really all you have to do...

Wake Up!

Wake Up!

Pounce! 

"It's morning!" you announce with your rough, dry tongue across my cheek.

"Don't you want to see what's going to happen?" you ask with each crude lick.

"Get up," you demand as you paw the sheets away. 

"The birds are already up, the air is filled with the scent of night visitors, and I see a squirrel that needs to be chased."

"There's much to be done on this brand new day," says the wise little dog.

Introduction

Things you need to know about me... I love words, though I'm not always proficient in, nor patient with, them. Words release many things - love, anger, prejudice, comfort, mistrust. The power of words is incredible. They're a super power when you think about it, so I try to choose them carefully. 

My world is surrounded by the glory of nature, New England nature, specifically. I am blessed, blessed, blessed to live on Loon Lake (my fictional name) where nature and visitors from the natural world are in abundance. Not a day goes by that we (me, my beloved Kady, and our little dog, Ellis) are not visited by creatures large and small. We've recently been visited (as have our neighbors) by a black bear. More on that visit another time. The life we live is simple and glorious. 

Admittedly, we live in a house far too large for two people and a dog, but our lives are largely centered right here and we are blessed with visits by family and friends often, so it works. 

I'll leave you with a wonderful quote from Henry David Thoreau that reflects my philosophy about life:

"The question is not what you look at, but what you see..." - Henry David Thoreau

Anger