When the Last Leaf Falls

Ever since we moved to the east coast, I have been enamored by the fall colors that appear overnight in stunningly vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow and purple.  I have often been known to pull over to the side of the road whenever I catch sight of a great view and ooh and ahh at it for five minutes or more before continuing on my way.

It is for this reason, that my kids dread getting in the car with me between the months of September and November.  They never know when a quick car ride will turn into a painfully slow sightseeing tour, a la Disney's "Its a Small World" ride.  (To be fair, I do enjoy that ride, but only since I became a mother).

The reason I always stop to gaze at the leaves is really very simple:  I know that it's only going to be there for a few short weeks, if even that.  Once the last leaf falls, I will have to face six months of cold and ugly before spring arrives to save me from the gloom.  As I sit there in my car, sometimes with complaining kids in the back, enjoying the beauty of whatever fall scene I happen to be taking in, I can feel it filling me up as I drink in the gorgeous views.

This scenario plays itself out every single fall and once it is over for the season, I can't wait to do it again next year.  I was met with a shock today, however, when I left my house for the first time in over a week (thank-you, hurricane Sandy) and found that fall is almost completely over and that I missed the best part of it this year.

Of course I've been stopping at my favorite spots for several weeks now, waiting for them to be just right, but they never quite got there.  Now they are gone and I have missed it.

Indeed, I am grateful for all the times I did stop over the past few weeks, even though I knew the colors weren't at peak yet.  I thought I would have plenty of time later to look at them, but still I stopped anyway and now I'm so glad that I did.

This is a minor tragedy, of course, and I know I will get to see it all again next year.  Even though I didn't get to fully experience the joy of the fall season this year, I know there will be plenty of chances to do so later.  But what my kids don't know, and what I haven't told them, is that I feel the same way about them as I do about the fall leaves. 

Venturing out today only to discover that I missed my favorite part of the year while I had my head down during the storm we faced last week, was a poignant reminder that I don't want to do the same thing with my children.  If I don't stop to look at them and drink in their innocence every chance I get, then I might just miss it and winter will set in all too soon.

Unlike the seasons, there will be no second chances this time.  This is it.  Now is the time to bask in the beauty of the season that is childhood.

And just so you don't feel too bad for me, I will let you in on a little secret.  Though it is true that my favorite neighborhood leaf-gazing spots have slipped into hibernation and I will have to wait until next year to fully experience them, the last leaf of the season has yet to fall.  There is a Japanese Maple tree in my backyard that is always the last to turn.  Every year, after all the other leaves have fallen, it changes slowly, allowing me to savor the last little bits of the beauty that is a New England fall before silently bidding me farewell.  It's my final reminder to enjoy what I've got, while I've got it and for that, I am grateful.

Thank-you, Japanese Maple for reminding me to savor the important things in life.