Autumn’s lesson of letting go has the opportunity to teach us a paradoxical yet deeper understanding of the mystical nature of connection.
Half a block from our house stands a tree that, for one week every fall, looks like someone plugged it in. Brilliant. Glowing. Almost too bright to be real. Then, just as quickly, it lets go. What we rarely see is how intentional it is. As the days shorten, the tree grows a thin seam at the base of each leaf. A design made for releasing. And the vibrant color? It was there all summer, hidden beneath the green. Patiently waiting. The glory isn’t added at the end. It simply shows through once the tree stops holding on to summer.
Of course, not every tree lets go so easily. Some oaks hold their crinkled brown leaves through the winter, rattling in a January wind long after the other trees have settled. I don’t fault the oak. Yet it does leave me wondering what I’m holding on to … and what for. A relationship. A possession. A belief I keep clutching. Convinced it’s what keeps me connected. But if you have to hold on to something to have it, it may not be connection at all. It has likely become attachment. First you attach to it. Eventually, it has you. Autumn offers another way. By nature’s design, each leaf settles at the foot of its tree and slowly becomes nourishment for its roots. Not leaving. Returning. For underneath it all, a quiet current holds everything together. Connected even in what appears to be disconnection. That is the mystery autumn keeps inviting us into … one leaf, one seam, one tree at a time.
For further reflection
What am I holding on to … and what might be nourished if I let it go?