Annual War-or Simply Transition?

Lonely Leaf
-Photo by Rosewillow Hegfield

Annual War
by Belin Hegfield

I saw a leaf of red and purple
Twisting gently on its stem
It clung to the branch
As the wind whipped by
A gale designed for
The destruction of those
Silent beings

I saw that leaf hang limp
When the breeze had ceased
I saw it as a war banner
When the battle is won
But the cost is too great
To feel a victory

I saw that vibrant leaf
Hold fast to life
Then at a slight breath of air
Surrender to the inevitable fate
Of trees

From the window I watched
It fall, borne by nothingness
Tumble
And hit the ground inaudibly
Joining the others who had
Come and gone before

That night I walked
Beneath the tree
Then stood still
Gazing down at
The tomb of fallen leaves

This lovely, sorrowful poem written by my nearly 16-year-old daughter Belin this past week, spoke directly to my heart. Her title, Annual War gave me pause, however. For me, these transitions from one state of being to another are not a war at all, unless that is our mindset.

There is a difference between loving life until that "slight breath of air surrender(s) us to the inevitable fate of trees" (all living things)...and fighting, kicking and bitterly screaming, becoming warlike at the end. Because the end (as John O'Donohue so eloquently taught us a few blog entries back) is not an end at all, as "our very life here depends directly on continuous acts of beginning". This is exactly what the gentle acquiescence of the leaf Belin observed, tumbling inaudibly in the poem above, is. (IMHO!) It is a continuation of beginnings. Immersed "beneath the tree" within that silent "tomb of fallen leaves", is an even quieter womb where an infant seed will be protected from the frost and snow, nourished with the decaying corpses of her (the leaf's) ancestors, waiting for the warmth of spring to send her tender roots deep into the earth as her slender shoots reach up toward the sun...continuing the process of life bearing life over and over again.

Fighting, in my way of thinking would have been a waste of precious energy...energy if preserved, that could fortify the next generation of trees. Surrender, is not an act of giving up. It is the art of allowing life to flow as it is meant to. Struggling, fighting is a temporary measure that may postpone the inevitable, but will not prevent its ultimate unfolding. And why would we want it to really?

Perhaps what my maturing daughter perceived as a "war banner" was simply a gift, a portent for her to witness. This red and purple leaf twisting, could it be this leaf's mode of dance? Was this nature’s choreographed reminder to pay attention to just how exquisite and precious life is? Not a "sorrowful farewell", but a "sweet hello", an invitation to jump in the pile of leaves, playfully listening not to the silence but to the delightful crunchiness gathered beneath Belin's feet. Each foot fall breaking down the drying leaves, enabling them to become food for next spring's crop of baby trees; a celebration, a simcha.

Our perceptions have tremendous potential. As Anne Marie Bennett taught us about our thoughts in my last blog entry when she said: "I think the main thing is that it is a choice... I could choose to be grateful. I could choose to see the glass half full. It’s always a choice."

I love the somber tone my daughter chose in writing her poem. I adore her ability to be empathic toward a single leaf. This too is a gift that will allow her to connect genuinely throughout her many relationships with fellow humans, animals, all of Creation as she blossoms into adulthood. Often our children are our greatest teachers, and I am grateful for this lesson of compassion from my eldest daughter. And yet, I hope that after reading what I have written, she will take a moment of pause, as I did upon absorbing the wistful words of her poem to contemplate the full range of possibilities that the falling leaf she beheld represents, beyond it being a casualty of an "annual war".

My heart's prayer is that perhaps she will consider that it was a banner signifying an opportunity to celebrate the transitions of life...like turning 16, stepping nearer the threshold between childhood and adulthood...learning that it is indeed a dance and she can return to childlike frolicking, prancing, bouncing, playing no matter what her chronological age. Joy is always an option. Though the dance steps may vary from those of her younger years, (as bodies are wont to change, transform and transition through the ongoing procession of time or illness- mine a perfect example)...joy need not be lost. Perhaps the "dance" will not include twisting or bouncing, stomping or strutting as she ages, but instead a smile that engages her eyes "tripping the light fantastic" in a flash of merriment and unabashed delight!

Rosie's Funky Boots
-Photo by Belin Hegfield

As any blogger knows, one of the many benefits of this self publishing art-form is that we can include the work of our own creative children (with their permission, of course) on our pages. What a wonderful showcase in which to feature the talent of burgeoning youth! The snapshot to the right is of my beautiful daughter Belin, author of the poem above and photographer of Rosie's Funky Boots at the bottom of the post; clearly not solemn in all moments. The Lonely Leaf image at the top of the page was taken by my impish, equally lovely daughter, Rosewillow, on the left. (she's almost 13)

Although I had planned for several days the this entry would focus on the poem by Belin and some images that felt relevant, as well as my response to my daughters' words, I freely admit, I was inspired to include photographs of my girls when I viewed my new friend Deb's blog entry that incorporated her Four Angels (as she lovingly refers to her daughters). Thanks Deb for a great idea! Be sure to click on the purple link above to see Deb's gorgeous girls and read her insights about life.