Shower of yellow

Outside the library's north side, just the other side of the parking lot and Westside Drive, stand two tall, well rounded maple trees whose leaves have clung to the branches with great tenacity. Sandwiched between naked leafless trees, they are a stark contrast to the hibernation going on all about them. I have watched them every day for some few weeks, sure that the peak of their glorious color would fade and the leaves would turn dull brown and drop to the ground any moment.

But they have hung on stubbornly. Why do they fight the inevitable? Surely they know they are already dead despite their attachment to the tree. I am sure they have not appreciated the biting wind, the snow showers, the rumble of the trucks sucking up the dead leaves from the curb. Yet there they hang, a glorious burst of vibrant color against an already bleak landscape.

I have appreciated their beauty, been uplifted by their cheerful color, touched by their hardiness against all odds, wondered at their tenacity. Today, I pulled into the library parking lot early, just a hair past seven am, and parked on the far side facing the trees. The weather report is for rain all day, and in fact, a light mist covered my windshield. Yet as I glanced up, the sun broke through for just a moment, and smack dab in the middle of the golden light, the yellow leaves began to glide silently down. Not just one or two, but it seemed like the entire ensemble determined to go together.

I could have sworn it was raining leaves, filling the entire vista with their unbelievable color and charm. I sat transfixed for I don't know how long as they sifted down and carpeted the road, the lawn edge, the bushes. They just kept coming and coming and coming. Despite how many now lay silently on the ground, it didn't look as if any had fallen from the trees. After a bit, I tore myself away to take care of opening procedures, still touched by the unusual leaf shower going on outside. I glanced from the second floor as I passed by, and they were still falling, though the tops of the trees were beginning to look bare.

I do not want to see the final outcome. Perhaps I can close my eyes when I go home tonight and not see the tree shed of its glory. I prefer to remember the glorious shower of yellow mixing with the morning sunlight, raining down in slow motion, in a dance, in a celebration of more to come. I am honored to have been included in their moment. I will treasure it for some time to come, and remember it when I am hanging on against all odds.