“I worry too much. Autumn trees ask me not to worry. They, like Jesus, suggest trust rather than worry. So often in autumn I want to go lean my head against a tree and ask what it feels like to lose so much, to be so empty, so detached, to take off one’s shoes that well, and then simply to stand and wait for God’s refilling. It sounds so simple, so easy. It isn’t easy. But it is possible.”
—Seasons of Your Heart by Macrina Wiederkehr
Listen
The secret of yearning,
reaching, spreading
out all the arms, stretching
down deep for all the life,
blossoming, bursting. Life
surging, green and singing. Then,
letting go.
Letting go is the best part.
All that bursting life laughing
inward, and suddenly the forests
glow. The glory is all in the dying,
the joyous accepting of
diminishment.
As if death were something to celebrate!
And then the wind,
and all that beauty goes
sailing, goes falling, and mantles
the earth with beauty.
And the trees stand stark
naked, laughing,
still reaching up,
ready to receive their winter.
The trees know.
After night,
morning. After loss,
something new.
And all through the long cold sleepy
days, new life surges, quiet,
underneath.
Every year this trust, this joyful,
glorious release.
Come and listen to their laughter.
All is golden.
