Sounds of Seasons

The sounds of leaf blowers abound. I struggle with the level of intensity, of the obsession with cleanliness at the expense of chaos. Most leaves are off the trees and I hope soon the sounds will settle. I focus on reminders of what is lovely—the colors of leaves, the movements of their fall, the smells of necessary decay. I shift the roar of mowers and blowers to the background in an effort to establish peace.

I reflect, instead, on my newly-born grandson, of his measured movements, his open mouth, his cries. I wonder at the miracle of his life, of how his focus is only on food and comfort. I marvel at the simplicity of his life, on the vulnerability and trust he has in my daughter as he rests in her arms.

I pray for him from my porch. I watch the blue jays squawk atop the feeder while the white-throated sparrows peck at the fallen seeds beneath. I wonder at the level of preparation, the acceptance of the fallow season, the anticipation of what lies ahead.

I recognize the need for the seasons—those of wanting, those of movement, those of rest. I’ve learned that in the wild a dog will hunt, eat, clean, and rest, in that order. There is a rhythm to its existence. Likewise, there is a season of growth and rest for all of us. As I watch that cycle play out, I learn that acceptance of these seasons is imperative. And, while I wait, I rest, in anticipation of what’s to come.