The Final Adventure: a story about a leaf
AS THE INTERCOM CALLS OUT THE NEXT STOP, I have my hand ready to pull the yellow cord above my head. It took only four minutes to get here from our home in the middle of town, but already the bus has climbed up into the hills of evergreens in Forest Park and it would appear as though we were somewhere in Hood National Forest instead of Portland’s city limits. The “Stop Requested” sign lights up and the bus comes to a quick stop just past Barnes Road. Eoghan and I jump from our seats and out the back door of the #20—forgetting to thank the driver. She wasn’t very friendly and we’re in a bit of a rush to hit the trail today—not that either of those are a good excuse—but we headed up the hill toward the trailhead half out of breath and full of anticipation for today’s outing.
Today it’s just the Eoghan and me. In a few short months, we’ll have company on these sort of outings in the form of Eoghan’s baby brother or sister. With this in mind, I’ve kind of made it a point lately to relish the little bit of time I have left with just the two of us. Just us two guys, out in nature once more, blazing new trails and memories, and enjoying each other’s presence unshared.
As we make our way up Barnes Road we soon reach Pittock Mansion and stop to take in the view from the forested ridge over the city. It’s a drizzly day and Downtown is encased in fog, and it seems quieter than usual as if the city’s half asleep this morning. One cloud after another moves across the cityscape below, and visibility waxes and wanes with the current. A train’s horn bellows in the distance. The sounds of industry filter through the clouds to the north—toward the river and the sea. Somewhere the sun is rising higher, but here below the clouds the day seems to be growing dimmer.
As we turn from the vista, we enter the forest’s edge near the trailhead and the sky grows darker still. Is it still day? This must be confusing to Eoghan, I wonder. Right away, the trail begins its steady descent—deeper into the clouds and darkness. Switchback after switchback, we plunge our way down the trail. Soon, we’d be lost in the fog completely.
Suddenly, I stop to realize the sounds of the city have disappeared. Somewhere beyond the trees and mist, metropolis and industry stretch for miles, but here—on this trail, in these woods—they are nowhere to be seen or heard. Total escape. Total clarity. It’s then that I realize the new chorus of sounds that exist here in this new environment. Like picking up a new frequency, I gradually begin to hear the varied whistles of several birds in the trees above. And with the birds, I can hear the trees they are swaying in—the gentle sweeping whisper of their branches. The rustle of ferns and falling leaves. The gentle dripping of rain falling through the canopy and landing, ever so lightly, on the forest floor.
I breathe in the cool moisture letting it fill my lungs. Letting the scent of the damp earth and fallen leaves beneath my feet soak into my core, my soul. My spirit begins to lighten as if it could float away. Time seems to have stopped. And I realize there is no other place I want to be then right where I am. Here on this hillside with Eoghan on my back and the endless day of this forest before us.
As I peer out through the deepening darkness, I notice a subtle glow amidst the trees about 100 feet out from where I’m standing on the side of the mountain. A pocket of shimmering light, a caldron of golden fire. What is that? I hold my breath, not sure yet whether to be afraid or in awe. Brighter than the sunlight, down the slope a cluster of Maple trees rise into the clouds—their autumn foliage set aflame. Just leaves? But how could this be: it’s so bright? As I stare, a few of the giant yellow leaves break off from the rest and begin to float down the mountain, dancing as they fall through the mist. Sunlight glitters from their tumbling bodies before they are lost in the branches and shadows near the forest floor. I slowly let myself give in to the awe more than the fear as leaf after leaf makes it’s final pilgrimage to the waiting earth below.
* * * * * *
A few weeks ago, Cort and I took Eoghan out to Wallace park. We went there because they have the swings with seats made for little kids, but also because there are lots of kids that come from the neighborhood nearby to laugh and play in the sun—when the sun comes to play, that is. As Eoghan played, Cortnie and I lied on our backs in the grass and stared up at the changing tree branches, and the white clouds and blue skies beyond. As we lied there, I began to wish I had more time—time to spend on unnecessary things. You know, silly things. I wished I could lie there and stare at a leaf. Just pick a leaf from a branch and stare at it until it fell from the tree. I’d lie there staring until the moment it would break away and make it’s last, fleeting descent. One final electrifying moment of pleasure, one last adventure. As soon as it broke off, I wouldn’t blink. I’d watch it the whole way down—probably holding my breath—memorizing every twist and somersault it completed before it landed softly in the grass. One sudden end. Then I’d take it home with me and put it in a book, or in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. And I’d always remember the day I spent watching the leaf. I’d tell fabulous tales about its final marvelous flight, lingering on my favorite parts of the story.
* * * * * *
As I’m standing on the trail—watching the golden leaves making their final jumps, setting the air on fire with their dancing—I begin to wish I had more time. More time for myself and the things I love. More time with Eoghan. More time to stare at leaves with him, more time to stare at his mom. Right now, I feel like that leaf who’s just trying to make it through the current season until, what—autumn, the fall? The fall back to earth, back to where I began. So much growing, so much living. Cultivating a life, only to watch it inevitably fall in one short, last dance. And that must be it—the part that stings whenever I think about it—that I have no more control than nature and the promise of season’s end. Eventually, my final season will end and I’ll have no other choice than to let go of the tree (or the tree will let go of me) and then I’ll be alone. As I descend. Into the earth.
I reach the base of the Maple trees a few minutes later. They’re covered in moss and ferns. Their brilliant plumage, bright as the day, is now high above me amid the canopy of trees. For now, no leaves are falling. I wait. And I wait some more. I look to my left, a little too late, as a giant maple leaf spins and crash-lands into a young cedar tree a few feet above the ground. That must not have been my leaf. I ponder what size picture frame I’d need for that leaf. Then I remember it’s not about the trophy, it’s about the moment. Just as I’m contemplating this, I watch a leaf—a small leaf—detach from a branch high above me. It’s free. It’s falling away from the tree. Unlike the others I’d witnessed earlier, it’s not spinning or tumbling through the air. It’s floating perfectly, straight down through the mist—straight onto the trail where I’m standing. As it reaches eye-level with me I blink, and come to, and snatch the leaf right out of mid air. This leaf will not be touching the ground today. It’s coming home with me. It may have fallen today, but I caught it.
Long before it was ever buried in the soil.
{THE END}
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After writing this and pondering its significance for myself I wondered what, if any, significance it might have for others. I decided I’d share, in addition to what’s above, at least one parallel that I see between these words and whatever absolute, yet somehow indefinable—or at least humanly indescribable—truth persists out there. May these words enlighten you toward the true final adventure…
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There once was one that fell. Was buried below the earth. Then rose again in a new season of new life. He is now preparing a place where we can be together with him. Where we can have no fear of falling. He wants to take us home with him. Only he has the ability and the desire to catch us before we hit the bottom. You know him. Don’t forget to call him.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms…I am going there to prepare a place for you …I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”
Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” (John 14:1-7)
PLAYLIST: Mumford & Sons – “Timshel” M&S – “After The Storm” Radical Face – “Welcome Home, Son“ Whitley – “More Than Life” My Morning Jacket – “Wordless Chorus” Band Of Horses – “The Funeral”
