Fall

Fall Like the Trees

I used to think fall was graceful.

Leaves drifting down like they had somewhere to be, like letting go was a choreography, a practiced thing.

Now I know better.

The trees don't release their leaves because they're ready.

The wind takes them.

The cold persuades them.

Something inside the season whispers:

You cannot hold this forever.

And so they don't.

And neither do I.

The sky arrives earlier every evening, putting out the light before I've finished using it.

The fields go quiet.

The flowers stop pretending they'll bloom again tomorrow.

Everything honest begins to show.

The bare branches.

The empty nests.

The places where life used to cling.

And me.

Especially me.

I've been shedding in secret.

Pieces of certainty. Pieces of patience. Whole armfuls of versions of myself I thought would stay forever.

People call it falling apart.

But maybe they're looking from too far away.

Because from a distance, a tree in autumn looks like it's dying.

Look closer.

It's only becoming visible.

The leaves were beautiful, but they covered everything.

The scars. The twists. The lightning strike from years ago.

The places that healed crooked.

Fall uncovers.

That's all.

It strips away the decoration and leaves the truth standing there, shivering, unapologetic.

And yes,

there are mornings when I feel exactly like a November branch.

Empty.

Exposed.

One hard wind away from breaking.

But even then, somewhere beneath the bark, the tree is keeping secrets.

Green things.

Sleeping things.

Spring-shaped things.

And maybe I am too.

Maybe falling apart isn't the opposite of becoming.

Maybe it's the sound it makes.

Maybe every leaf that leaves is making room.

Maybe every ending is just the earth teaching another lesson in release.

So let it happen.

Let the season change.

Let the light move.

Let the old colors burn themselves bright before they disappear.

And if you find yourself unraveling with the trees,

remember:

the forest never apologizes for becoming winter.

It simply stands there, bare and honest,

trusting that what looks like loss

isn't loss at all.

Just another way to survive the change