A Perfect Moment
I used to think that “perfect moments” didn’t happen all that often and even when they did you had to be incredibly lucky to be a part of one. But now, more and more, I’m beginning to realize that they exist all around us, all the time, we just have to be quiet enough, still enough, open enough to experience them.
I love being outdoors especially in the autumn when the air turns crisp and the uniform of the day becomes a hooded sweatshirt, a light jacket, or my favorite fleece. There’s something about the cool, brisk breeze that somehow puts a bounce in my step, ironically at a time when most of nature is winding down, getting ready for a long winter’s nap (at least here in the northeast United States).
For those of you who have never witnessed the pure majesty of autumn in New England, you have truly missed one of life’s most spectacular events.
As colorfully grand as New England is in October, and as majestic as the forests are in all their yellow and gold and red splendor, this perfect moment is about a simple tree in my neighbors back yard.
I love trees and I am blessed that the houses around me back up to a small hill populated with all kinds of them. Old trees, new trees, trees with leaves, pine trees, and some that have succumbed to the forces of nature and fallen to their final resting place on the forest floor. There are shagbark hickory trees yielding their nutty food supply that keep the squirrels and chipmunks busy for months, small, slender silver maples struggling to find their way skyward amongst the crowd of their neighbors, and majestic oak trees towering above most, providing their own contribution to the food supply, one even cradling a hawks nest in its strong powerful branches.
And then there’s this simple tree in my neighbors back yard. I don’t know what kind of tree it is but the way its leaves shake and twist in the wind it reminds me of the aspen trees I’ve seen on National Geographic specials. For the sake of this story the type of tree isn’t important, I’ll just call it “my tree” even though, to be clear, I have no claim on its ownership.
It’s late October now and the days have gotten noticeably shorter and the temperatures noticeably cooler… some might say downright cold; some, but not me, I’m good with noticeably cooler or even chilly but cold? Nope, that’s coming, but not yet. Anyway, after being blessed by going for a walk in today's cool late-October air, I decided I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to prolong the moment for a little while longer. So I decided to just sit out back and enjoy the day, the cool breeze, the clouds floating by, the setting sun doing its best to make its way through the wavering trees, the whole thing.
As I sat and scanned the trees, watching them all dance in rhythm to the wind, my eyes caught focus of “my tree.” I became transfixed, absolutely mesmerized. As I watched the leaves dance in the breeze, they seemed to be like an elated audience of ten thousand, clapping with unbridled enthusiasm, giving a standing ovation to the very breeze that moved them. The sun seemed to shine on them like a spotlight highlighting their dance and the slowly moving, soft white, feather-like clouds floated by as if to watch for a moment, nod with approval, and then hurry on their way to the next performance.
As I watched the dance and felt the cool breeze my mind, even my heart wanted to somehow capture the moment. They said “Quick, run, grab a piece of paper and pen and write down everything that’s happening,” but my soul, my soul pleaded, “No!” It begged me to be still, to witness, to feel, to see, to listen, to hear, to rejoice in the moment; to become part of the moment because it understood what my mind failed to understand… that all too soon the moment and its magic would be gone.
As I sat there and watched, my thoughts like the clouds drifted, drifted to the coming days and weeks and the realization that “my tree’s” troupe of tiny dancers would all too soon be turning to their beautiful shade of gold and descending to the forest floor below, never to dance again.
And yet I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s not truly what “loss” is all about. If its purpose isn’t to make us sad, but rather to help us make room for the new; to remember the things that are important to us; to help us remember the things we love and that love us; to help us remember the things we take way too for granted, and that somehow in that remembering we are given a chance to renew hope; hope in ourselves, hope in the potential of what we might still become, hope in the future that awaits us.
Could it be that somehow, all these years, I’ve missed the deep lesson and ultimate truth that “loss”, and the pain that so often accompanies it, is actually a friend, a friend beckoning us to grow, to learn, to remember?
“My tree” has earned its well-deserved winters rest and I will miss the dance…for now, but I know in the deepest part of my soul that come Spring, the forest will wake from its slumber and “my tree’s” leaves will return and dance once again in the gentle breeze.