Our backyard has a maple tree whose leaves change to a vibrant yellow in the fall before they release their hold and swirl in the breeze, joining their siblings on the ground. I’ve watched that tree grow from a cute little sapling into a tall stretch of branches with a crazy amount of leaves. We have other maple trees skirting the backyard. Their leaves are also in stages of showing the world their true colors before they give the final breath and let go. Our lawn becomes a kaleidoscopic mural of nature’s swan song.
Maple leaves are an excellent example of death and rebirth. In less than a year, they grow from a bud to the bright green of youth and on to full of vibrant colors. Eventually, they release their hold on life and decompose, feeding the soil for future generations. It’s not always pretty, it’s not always ugly, it’s nature — the changing of the seasons.
We are born. We learn. We live. We discover our true colors. Eventually, we die. Some get blown off their life force early. Some will be the last to hang on. In the end, we decompose into fertilizer.
In my neck of the woods, snow will arrive and toss a white blanket over the colors, bleaching the landscape. I personally don’t care for the cold. My husband will marvel that my toes aren’t blue based on their temperature. Not to mention extended headaches from the brain injury. Someday, we will move to a gentler climate. Until then, I hibernate further into hermit mode until the snow melts off and nature awakens as it pushes through another cycle.
The leaves remind me that their lifetime is short, but most still manage to burst with colors before the end. We can only hope to do the same.