The Sound of Leaves

Leaving Daylight

This twilight of year opens renewed the first silent spaces of winter, yet with a gentler patina. I brush aside the cobwebs from a recurring time sealed in the senses – awakened by the scents and sounds of chill nights. Air is held more in the home as my windows close, fading the outside world to black. Incense, a candle, or a shower with new soap lingers longer, cloaking me in more of my own distinctness.

Fall doesn’t hug me like the wet heat of summer, but rather opens a space to be hugged. The bed’s down comforter, the dresser’s hoodies, the closet’s boots, squeeze me closer to myself. Felt boundary in space keeps me at pace.

Outside my window once obscured, opens to color and space, as leaves change and fall with grace. Winds no longer blow back and forth in an eternal recurrence across unchanged land. Instead, they peel away a layer with each gust, whisking away the old. From the bees to the trees, the world around me is letting go, and in this I know, is how too I can grow.

Humbled with tea, iced no longer, its smell lingering fondly, I sip sounds. Sounds of the first snowfall, hallowed howls of children, but more so the tone of the coming of night. Nothing somber or grim, just a coming quiet and patience. As hats cover ears, and windows shut tight, the world is softer in this the year’s twilight.

I love these seasons, these many reasons, to gather our thoughts, feelings, and people. To tap along to the world’s rhythm and discover its melody. To hear the wisdom of the trees – holding tight and letting go.