Misty Ridge Musings

Listen.

Do you hear?

The leaves sing a different song in autumn.

Most of my life has been lived, and yet I never sensed the modulating harmonies of the leaf-song; so subtle and yet profound. There is a brittle edge, a sigh of leave taking. Perhaps it is only now, with the same song within, that I can hear.

How glad I am to be at last at home! In the forest, a quiet stage, I watch and hear the play of the circle of life.

Leaves fall; encircle their tree, feeding it and the leaves that will follow.

A maple falls. Its life spent, gives new life to the fungus and the slug. From brittle and fragile come the soft and the slime. The grand tree fallen back to ground. Ground transforms.

Minor to Diminished and then to Major; the song comes back to new life.

The brittle song transmuted.