Leaf Number 58

Leaf number 58 fell from my linden tree at about 4:45 yesterday afternoon.

More aptly, leaf 58 corkscrewed up and away from the linden tree, firmly hooked by an up-drafting autumn breeze.  I watched as leaf 58 twisted into a yellow blur and then sailed out and tumbled onto the high grassy plain upon which I constructed my house.

I counted the remaining leaves—now yellow to brown in color and of a distinct sea-shell shape—and tallied the 57 remaining.

Soon enough, leaf 57 and all the rest will drop away and then I will be stomping through snow as I pass the bare tree during my regular comings and goings.

I am going to miss leaf 58, but such is the nature of changing seasons.  Such is life.  We are surrounded by living tides.  Each day, each week, each year is a similar blur of arrivals and departures.  The sun comes and goes.  Songbirds sweep in, settle for a while, and then flutter away again.  The trick, for each of us, is to hang on for as long as we are able.

The trick is to become the linden tree.

--Mitchell Hegman