What the Trees Know
I love fall! There is so much to revel in as I move through this season. It’s the perfect season for a hike through the woods to enjoy the trees showing off their bold colors or to huddle around a campfire with my family, laughing and drinking hot cocoa. Fall invites me to take notice of the beauty all around me and to savor the traditions and celebrations that nurture connection with people I love.
But it’s a bittersweet season too. It’s always gone too fast. Even as I admire the pretty leaves, I can’t forget that what lies on the other side of autumn is winter, with its cold and its dull browns and grays.
Every year, this season calls me back to Macrina Wiederkehr’s reflection, “The Sacrament of Letting Go,” which is found in her book, Seasons of Your Heart. Her words remind me that the gift of this season is not only its beauty; there is also a gift in the impermanence of it all.
“Slowly
she celebrated the sacrament of letting go
first she surrendered her green
then the orange, yellow, and red
finally she let go of her brown
shedding her last leaf
she stood empty and silent, stripped bare.
Leaning against the winter sky
She began her vigil of trust…”
The dropping of leaves evokes a sense of loss. If I didn’t know better, I might think the trees were dying. Of course, that’s not the case at all. The trees need to let go of their leaves in order to survive the changing conditions of winter. They transition into a dormant state to conserve energy, but those bare branches are very much alive, waiting until the time is right to leaf out again in spring. “Vigil of trust” seems like a good way to describe the reality that letting go of what had nurtured the tree is what will allow it to survive and flourish as the seasons change.
I am not always so good at living with that kind of trust! Much of the letting go that I’ve done in my own life has not reflected the noble grace of the trees shedding their leaves; I almost always fight it. And though I’ve experienced times when I’ve felt empty and stripped bare, I’ve tended more towards complaint than silence. It’s hard for me to trust that there may be something life-giving happening in seasons characterized by emptiness and dormancy. Thankfully, I’m slowly learning.
This fall, I want to practice the trust of trees. I want to appreciate all the vibrancy and beauty present in and around me. I also want to celebrate the sacrament of letting go. Though fall won’t last forever, neither will winter. I want to live with enough trust to release what has been to make room for what is coming next, though I may still grumble about it!
