Leaves change. It’s a beautiful thing, and an appropriate phenomenon for an oft used metaphor. The notion of a warm green leaf transformed into a bright-orange symbol of a cooler, damper, Autumn, can’t help but make one think that change is in the air. And maybe it is. One season to another, a new chapter begins.
But rather than buckle me in for transition, shed leaves simply stir up great memories: trick-or-treating in the LA suburbs as a kid, tailgating in Indiana as a questionably-more-mature kid, and taking pictures with my wife in Parsons Green after having a kid, to name a few.
A fallen leaf leaves a small scar on the twig or branch it leaps from. For me, this tiny reminder may be the better metaphor, as it represents both the past and the present. It’s always there, to serve as a symbol of a moment, and yet it grows with the tree as additional leaves fall. Our memories build as the seasons change, always there to remind us of what once was and of what can be and, to me, the ability to re-read chapters and write new ones truly is a beautiful thing. Speaking of, it’s about time I revert to calling Autumn, Fall.