October 14, 2009
A curious woman named Patrice lived on a beautiful street in the suburbs. The people in her neighborhood looked past her eccentricities because they just figured every neighborhood has one “like her.”
During the fall, Patrice would come home each day from working at the local Y and climb into the big oak tree on her front lawn. She liked to sit up there and watch the world around her go by. She’d sit there for hours on end.
The leaves would eventually fall off the trees, as leaves are known to do, and for Patrice it was the most wonderful feeling. She would become swathed in the dewy foliage of golden yellows, brilliant reds and faded greens.
And then suddenly the world around her was bare.
This one year Patrice kept going up into the tree anyway.
Then her routine was broken even further. A young boy came by and jumped into the leaves that had formed a pile below Patrice’s tree.
He called to her up in the lofty branches, “Why are you up there?”
“I don’t know where to go yet,” she replied.
“But the leaves are gone,” said the boy. “It’s time for you to do something else.”
Not knowing where things would lead, Patrice came down from the tree.
“As each winter begins, I feel the same fear,” she confided to the boy. “The beginning of winter means I have no more leaves and I hate the loss.”
“Then why do you wait in the tree each year,” he asked.
“I’ve thought being close to nature would help me understand.”
“Does sitting in the tree help,” asked the boy.
“It’s torture for me to go up in that tree every day,” Patrice replied. “The branches scratch me and bugs crawl on me. I get so dirty and uncomfortable.”
“Then why do it?”
“It’s what I’ve always done,” she replied and sat down in the fortress of leaves with the boy.
“Things stop making sense a long time ago,” she continued. “But it’s what people came to expect from me.”
“I don’t think they’ve ever seen you sitting in a pile of leaves on the ground like this,” said the boy.
Patrice looked around and noticed people watching them.
“I think you’re right,” said Patrice.
She leaned in towards the boy.
“I’ve always wanted to go down by the river and skip stones,” she said. “But I’ve always worried I’d slip and fall into the water.”
“I think you should do it,” said the boy.
“Even though I could fall,” she questioned.
“Yes,” said the boy.
“People will still think I’m odd,” said Patrice. “They don’t realize that everyone is odd to someone else.”
“Not everyone,” said the boy. “My mommy and daddy have a lot of friends and they’re all exactly the same.”
The woman found the idea oddly comforting.
The two new friends sat and played with the leaves for a while, picking out piles of their favorites and putting them into neat little categories.
The woman also found this oddly comforting.
Sadly though, a sudden big wind came along and blew the leaves out of their piles and a tear escaped the grown woman’s eye.
She got herself up, took a deep breath and brushed off the wet leaves.
“I think I’ll go inside and wash up,” she said.
“Will you be outside in the leaves tomorrow,” asked the boy.
“I think I’ll go skip stones on the river tomorrow,” came the woman’s reply.
