“Autumn leaves don’t fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar.”
-Delia Owens,
These words from Delia Owens, which I shared in this newsletter last year, hooked me. The idea of leaves “taking their time to wander…on their only chance to soar,” whispers something to my soul.
Suddenly the falling leaves seem less like a chore and more like an invitation to witness, pause and reverence this singular moment in the life of a leaf. I take my walks, watching and listening for falling leaves. I wait and watch as they swoop, twirl, and dance to the ground. I witness their flight. I bow my head at their end. It’s pure “nowness” to watch-fully watch a leave fly, soar and reach the ground, to see it’s one, last chance to fly free.
I sat on my front steps for a few minutes this week and witnessed the leaves falling from the two trees in my front yard. They make a little crack, then bid the branch that birthed them a final “peace out.” Their dance to the ground takes a second or less, but they twirl and soar. There is joy in those seconds. (Really, watch a few leaves dance their way to the ground!)
Pausing to watch the falling leaves, to witness their soaring, dancing, and joyful transition does something for my soul. The final dance of leaves whispers to my soul to watch, to be present in the moment, to notice the falling leaves as not just a chore but an invitation to joy-full attentiveness.
The ancient desert mothers and fathers and the Orthodox church have a word for this invitation; nepsis or watchfulness.
“It refers to a kind of calm vigilance in daily life, staying attentive to and aware of the inner movements of the heart, watching one’s thoughts, and noticing the patterns that arise.”
-Christine Valtners Painter -The Wisdom of the Body
My obsession with watching leaves is a far cry from the fullness and transformative power of nepsis or watchfulness as a spiritual practice. However, I think it’s a tiny (small!) first step. Each falling leaf reminds me to pause, to see, to give space to that one leaf for that one second as it dances to the ground and lives its best life in that tiny, fleeting snippet of time.
Watchfulness starts on the outside. When I let the flying leaves remind me to pause, honor, and be present, it is a practice; I’m laying the groundwork for internal watchfulness, for nepsis. I’m living awake and alive to the snap of a leaf; its soaring, floating, joyful downward dance. I’m pausing to bow and witness in my body, soul, and spirit a fleeting moment, the life of one leaf dancingly embracing its next phase of life.
The dancing, soaring leaves of fall are my invitation to greater attention, watchfulness, and witnessing. They remind me nothing is separate-we are together in our growth, decay, and colorful joy.
A blessing for watchfulness:
When you see a single leaf dancing, flying, and soaring to the ground, may you pause in watchfulness, reverence, and joy to witness its final weightless dance. May the leaf dance invite your soul to greater watchfulness within and on the paths, roads, and routes you pass by. May the watchfulness you watch result in a calm vigilance in your daily life to the movement and invitation of your soul.
As I was writing this piece, I kept thinking back to one from March 2022-If you want to revisit this one on witnessing, it’s here.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
BY EMILY BRONTË
Watch a few leaves dance their way to the ground.
Give your attention to the phrases, ideas, and invitations that hook your soul; what is the personal invitation?
Breath The New Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor
I had no idea there was so much to learn about breathing. This is my favorite kind of science book; Breath is filled with interesting stories, personal experiences, and real-life applications. I’ve been counting my breaths, ensuring I’m breathing through my nose and watching fascinating videos on breath practice since finishing this book.
“The perfect breath is this: Breathe in for about 5.5 seconds, then exhale for 5.5 seconds. That’s 5.5 breaths a minute for a total of about 5.5 liters of air.”
― James Nestor, Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art
The Ogress and the Orphans by Kelly Barnhill
My daughter and I read this book as a bedtime book over the past couple of months. We LOVED it. The mysterious, omniscient narrator is witty and funny. The story feels like a parable for our times. There is just so much to love about this book. It’s the story of a town that suffered the loss of its library, which slowly led to the town becoming suspicious and judgemental over time. On one edge of town was the orphan house, filled with love but suffering from a lack of resources. A mysterious ogress lived on the other edge of town. She loved “her” town and believed in the power of generosity. After the library burned, a seemingly, magnanimous dragon hunter arrived in town and quickly became the sparkling, “benevolent” mayor. The book is about kindness, generosity, the power of books, and what it means to be a neighbor. It’s whimsical, magical, and fun! It was hard to stop at just one chapter most nights. (Kelly Barhill also wrote The Girl Who Drank the Moon, which won a Newbery Medal. I loved that book too.)
“So maybe the Reading Room is magic because books really are magic. I read once that books bend both space and time, and the more books you have in one place, the more space and time will bend and twist and fold over itself. I'm not sure if that's true but it feels true. Of course, I read that in a book, and maybe the book was just bragging.”
― Kelly Barnhill, The Ogress and the Orphans
I’m sharing another poem by Mary Oliver, “When I am Among the Trees.”
Read the poem through slowly several times. Be watchful for any words or phrases that stand out to you. Is there something you can carry with you into the week that will help you be watchful of the world around you and your soul’s response to what you see?
When I am Among the Trees
Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
…