Leaves

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

Isn’t it funny that we call the life-giving palms of trees “leaves”? Each year, after transforming light and carbon dioxide into food, these green powerhouses transform and drop to the earth; they literally “leave” the place of their birth. And yet, in falling to ground, they never leave where they belong.

This morning, I feel blessed to look out my front window at the truckload of leaves that arrived yesterday from my generous neighbors and municipality who actually dropped them off in my driveway. As some folks rake up those papery gold mines and move them aside in one version of order, I collect them here to distribute across my hungry garden.

The nutrients these leaves have sequestered into carbon and their wealth of microorganisms are consumed and engaged through the winter and spring by my trees, shrubs, and sleeping garden beds. My winter garden greens, too, will appreciate the arrangement of these leaves around their roots, protecting them from weeds and chill.

“Mulch” is a stout and rather plain word to describe the magic of what transpires here. Being a part of nature, we experience this cycle in our lives as well. What beautiful and not-so-beautiful experiences have fallen behind you in life but supported your further growth? When have you groaned under the burden of lifting and moving their remains and then later appreciated the perspective they blessed you with, the kindness or compassion they laid opportunity for in your soul?