Every time I see a new leaf turning, I brace myself a little bit. I spent most of my summer getting to know New Haven’s trees–giant, green beauties casting canopies of shadow all over the sidewalk. Seeing my friends now dressed in red and orange brings me both joy and sorrow. I am happy because the world gets more beautiful every day. I am sad
because I know these leaves erupt with color right before they fall, marking the beginning of a long and dreary winter season.
It makes me dumbstruck—thinking about the miracle of seasons (California native things…) There’s something comforting about how cyclical it is. When the leaves turn, I know they will fall. When the leaves fall, I know snow is coming. When the snow comes, I know flowers will bloom eventually. When the flowers bloom… And so it goes.
Living on the east coast has given me a new appreciation for the seasons of my own life. We, too, are a part of nature. We move through cycles. During some weeks we plant our seeds and during others we reap their harvest. Sometimes we can do nothing but stare at the soil where we’ve planted something, waiting for our efforts to sprout. In these moments I try to remind myself that growth starts under the surface before it breaks ground.