They were smooth ovals,    and some the shade of potatoes—    some had been moth-eaten    or spotted, the maples    were starched, and crackled    like campfire.    We put them under tracing paper    and rubbed our crayons    over them, X-raying    the spread of their bones    and black, veined catacombs.    We colored them green and brown    and orange, and    cut them out along the edges,    labeling them deciduous    or evergreen.    All day, in the stuffy air of the classroom,    with its cockeyed globe,    and nautical maps of ocean floors,    I watched those leaves    lost in their own worlds    flap on the pins of the bulletin boards:    without branches or roots,    or even a sky to hold on to. ~Judith Harris “Gathering Leaves in Grade School”

They are more like us than we care to admit:
veined and ribbed,
some wide, some thin,
lots with sharp edges, others rounded,
a variety of colors and shapes,
twisting this way and that with the breeze,
over-eager to let go,
explore wide open spaces
yet finding themselves blown and broken
thrown far from home and roots
with nothing left to hold on to,
destined to dust,
longing to return to branch and connection.

Even so-
even so, when we are let go,
we are thinking:
oh, what a life!

A book of beauty in words and photography available to order here: