letters from the sky

and lessons from the trees

I find my solace among the trees, branches askew, leaves willing themselves to stay attached, for they are not ready to fall to the ground. For the ones that fall, they didn't make it, did they? They broke off from the mother tree, they thought they could survive on their own.

But now they are withered on the ground, crunched underfoot.

I've often felt as the lost leaf. I left my branch, I floated through the air, oh that beautiful wind, it did indeed carry me! And then, I landed. Not withered, but no longer green. I was soft and supple but then I began to harden and crack.

---

I've often wondered why I am drawn to nature, specifically trees. Like a bumblebee to a flower, trees are my touchstone. I touch the trunk and I no longer hold my breath. The trees understand me. They know why I am here.

I like to walk, my legs moving in a rhythm, my balance delicately sorted. I stop and look to the sky. Brilliant blue with white puffy clouds, like someone is stretching cotton across it. I take deep breaths, gulping oxygen as I go.

Nature teaches us, we just have to listen.

Everything is seasonal. Everything is cyclical. The birds fly south for the winter. Midsummer ushers in the summer solstice. The flowers bloom. The sky is brilliant. The sky is dark and thunderous. The sky tells us what we want to know.

I look to the sky when my soul is troubled, when my mind is in disarray, when my heart is heavy. The sky, she listens, she hears my tales of woe. She reminds me that life is always a series of paths. Sometimes they lead us astray and sometimes they lead us to a new destination, a life we've never lived before. I wail my plaintive query to her, hoping for enlightenment: But how do I know if I am on the right path?

You don't, she whispers.

Those leaves that have fallen to the ground, she says, didn't stop growing even though they knew they would eventually fall. The trees are planted, and they do not know if today is the day someone chops them down or is today the day, their branches extend just a little bit more. Not all caterpillars become butterflies.

You don't know what is going to happen, she tells me. You will never know, but you keep going anyway.

I let that sink in for a moment, this brilliant letter from the sky, the missive of love mixed with heartache. She's right. I think of all of the paths I have taken in my lifetime that have led me here to this moment. I remember the paths that had proverbial detour signs on them, but I barreled through them anyway. I think of the paths that were smooth and easy underfoot, only realizing that now, with the benefit of hindsight. The point is, is that I set out on those paths, and I kept going even when the path wasn't the right one and I had to take a new and unknown road.

We keep going, don't we? None of us have this life figured out. There is beauty and magic in that realization. A bit of trepidation thrown in for good measure, but there is a bit of a thrill knowing there are paths that I have still not taken, ready for my soft footfalls.

---

The sky is quiet now. The birds fly by, wings flapping in rapidity. The leaves flutter in the breeze, waiting their turn to become part of the unattached. The wings of the butterfly catch my eye and I am in awe of their colorful brilliance.

I place my palm on the trunk of the tree and give thanks, and let my feet take me home.