 |
|
|
When I was young, my mother tried to explain to me the fall season in the simplest way she knew how. I remember it because I can remember waking up on the first day of fall and vowing to stay in bed until I saw a leaf blow past my window.
That wait lasted about a minute, and seeing no leaves, I bounded out of bed in search of breakfast.
I'm sure I saw the dancing leaves that fall and played in the giant leaf pile made each year on the lawn, but I don't remember now. I just remember the thrill of watching for the multi-colored leaves and the disappointment that they didn't come.
Since then I have learned that change doesn't come when I want it to, that the rhythm of seasons is counted by Someone who keeps perfect time, and that the beauty of the leaves comes from the time spent waiting.
|
|
|
