Windbreaker
Windbreaker
I liked the fall. It was nice. I was never too crazy about the crackling noises the leaves made, but I’d grown to appreciate it; even come to LIKE it. Now, raking leaves was a different story. Sure, I heard as much of the crackling as I wanted, but keep in mind here that I never said I LOVED that noise. I’d put on a scarf, a jacket, considering it wasn’t quite cold enough for an actual coat, my gloves, another pair of work gloves over that to keep the tips of my fingers warm, as I had cut them out, and I’d set out- like on a journey; except, this was my back yard. Though it was pretty big…
So I’d make one pile, and then I’d get tired of having to bring them all back to the same spot, so I’d make numerous little piles which I all combined anyway, so this whole ordeal really made no sense, but it felt ok to me; it felt right. It was chilly. It was down right cold sometimes, but I had a duty- or as much of one as someone like me could have. Sure, they were just leaves, but if I gave this up, what else would I give up? I can’t say I hated this, but I could almost say it relaxed me a little.
But back to the cold- Sometimes I would get cold, sometimes my back would hurt, or my arms would grow tired, and then sometimes I just needed to plan out what section I’d rake next; I always had a system anyway. Remember, this felt ok to me.
I’d stop, and I’d survey… I’d watch things move- I’d watch them tremble. I’d watch the leaves on the trees that were brown, but just not brown enough to fall- like a gold copper, with just a bit of life left in them, that would sit in their splendor until a gust comes and brings them down or old age consumes them and they fall to the ground without a sound or a sign of their presence or life.
***
It’s funny how a certain mood or presence of some unknown force that you don’t see or believe until after your task is done can affect you so much. On days like this I always felt different. Call in the weather- call it the noises- call it the turmoil, but I, MYSELF, was keener.
I heard a flock of geese pass over and they took my attention away from my work. As they passed over a tree of a loud copper color, they were as loud as the tree itself; it was like a painting- one that speaks to you. It was two geese- two birds flying through the sky not letting anything in their paths never relaxing their call. If only humans could be so loud yet so controlled. Two of us could be so quiet, but could we be so forceful with our words? Could we manipulate a mind into thinking we were more than we really were, thus making us silently stronger?
No. I don’t think we can.
Keep in mind, I’m keen right now. It’s one of those days for me. Usually, I perceive that these types of things are useless to me; that they are irrelevant to how I live my life. That may be so, but now, at this moment, it made me no difference. I stood, still distracted to all else that shudders in the wind like a living animal would even though, it is just our eyes that are fooled. I watched these two birds- these two creatures of God- pass overhead and for once I wondered about them. I wondered where they came from and where they were going. I wondered if they even knew themselves. Did they even care? Or, were they just going where some force took them, be it instinct, skill, or maybe even the wind? Maybe they were no different than the leaves I piled up high. Maybe they shuddered and left and even fell as the wind commanded. But if that were true, did that mean that we as humans were the only who didn’t follow the graceful, yet powerful, wind’s command? Was it really so great to be human and not another animal of the wild- or even a fallen leaf off of an oak tree? Was this some privilege we were missing out on?
***
Sure I thought a lot when I was outside. But still, there was work to be done. I raked some more. The sun started to set, and the cold was more than enough to tell me the day was over for me. But my arms ached a bit and the pile of leaves up to above my knees was inviting. I wondered, for once all night, what the people around me thought of me. I wouldn’t say I cared enough to let it preoccupy all my thoughts, but I was more interested in how they perceived me and how I acted. What did my neighbors think as I stared at two simple birds, deep in thought? Did they feel the same, or did they shrug off my interest in a heartbeat? I decided I really didn’t care… but it WAS something to think about and of course, remember, I was keen- I was thinking.
So, as you may have expected, I sunk down into a soft pile of autumn leaves. It smelled like I remembered, as if the feeling wasn’t enough. I smiled. I remembered how much I was thinking, and I finally thought about him. I wondered if he thought about me and if he thought like me. Maybe he saw the leaves fall and wondered if a day would come when we would all fall like leaves. Maybe we would be crushed and rustled, but never disappear entirely. But would we fall with grace or shudder to a point of despair as we left our branch, our tree, our home, forever. Was it really such a cold world, or did I just think so? Did HE just think so? What about US? Did WE watch the leaves fall in the evening in the silent part of life when you take it as it comes and never fight back because it’s never quite worth it? It seemed a silly thing to think about after moments of careful consideration about the natural world; about its creatures. But still, it was SOMETHING.
It was quiet. There were no more birds, no more geese. I thought about my love- hate relationship with the sound of the leaves. I couldn’t escape it, and I stayed, so I must like it. I must like that sound… I must’ve always liked it.
As you lay in a pile of soft, fallen leaves there is always sound. There is always a rustle. You can lay as still as the ground, you could even die, right then, right there, and sound would not escape you. I could hear the rustle keep time with my heartbeat if I listened close enough. Yes, if you lie still enough, your own heartbeat will make leaves rustle. Even so, as at peace as I was, I was cold. In a moments time I decided it was a hot chocolate night, and this I had to look forward to, for if there was ever a drink to warm every bone in your body on an autumn night, it was hot chocolate.
I had to get up or I would fall asleep, but I was reluctant to do so. I knew if I were to stand now, my pile would be scattered. Leaves would be on my hair, my coat, my scarf, and my pants. My hard work would scatter off of me and the pile and blow away in the wind as simply as they fell… but then I thought- yet again, I thought. If the wind took them down, took them to me, to my rake, and decides to take them away again, who am I to defy the wind? The wind, that so graciously provides us a breeze on a hot day or simply lets us fly a kite so high as the clouds above your head while you watch such a simple thing- such an easy thing- float weightlessly as if it were itself a creature and not plastic. As if this was another one of God’s animals that the wind has no choice but to take with it in its burst of a gentle breeze.
No, it was ok. I had not the right to defy the wind that was put here so graciously for me. It was here to take everything with a reason- everything with a purpose- and put it in its place. From a copper leaf shuddering in a cold air only to meet the ground carefully, in just the right place, to a kite, manmade, hard, and cold, floating in the wind as if life has been placed into its core, the wind handled. And it handled with grace; with skill.
So I’d make one pile, and then I’d get tired of having to bring them all back to the same spot, so I’d make numerous little piles which I all combined anyway, so this whole ordeal really made no sense, but it felt ok to me; it felt right. It was chilly. It was down right cold sometimes, but I had a duty- or as much of one as someone like me could have. Sure, they were just leaves, but if I gave this up, what else would I give up? I can’t say I hated this, but I could almost say it relaxed me a little.
But back to the cold- Sometimes I would get cold, sometimes my back would hurt, or my arms would grow tired, and then sometimes I just needed to plan out what section I’d rake next; I always had a system anyway. Remember, this felt ok to me.
I’d stop, and I’d survey… I’d watch things move- I’d watch them tremble. I’d watch the leaves on the trees that were brown, but just not brown enough to fall- like a gold copper, with just a bit of life left in them, that would sit in their splendor until a gust comes and brings them down or old age consumes them and they fall to the ground without a sound or a sign of their presence or life.
***
It’s funny how a certain mood or presence of some unknown force that you don’t see or believe until after your task is done can affect you so much. On days like this I always felt different. Call in the weather- call it the noises- call it the turmoil, but I, MYSELF, was keener.
I heard a flock of geese pass over and they took my attention away from my work. As they passed over a tree of a loud copper color, they were as loud as the tree itself; it was like a painting- one that speaks to you. It was two geese- two birds flying through the sky not letting anything in their paths never relaxing their call. If only humans could be so loud yet so controlled. Two of us could be so quiet, but could we be so forceful with our words? Could we manipulate a mind into thinking we were more than we really were, thus making us silently stronger?
No. I don’t think we can.
Keep in mind, I’m keen right now. It’s one of those days for me. Usually, I perceive that these types of things are useless to me; that they are irrelevant to how I live my life. That may be so, but now, at this moment, it made me no difference. I stood, still distracted to all else that shudders in the wind like a living animal would even though, it is just our eyes that are fooled. I watched these two birds- these two creatures of God- pass overhead and for once I wondered about them. I wondered where they came from and where they were going. I wondered if they even knew themselves. Did they even care? Or, were they just going where some force took them, be it instinct, skill, or maybe even the wind? Maybe they were no different than the leaves I piled up high. Maybe they shuddered and left and even fell as the wind commanded. But if that were true, did that mean that we as humans were the only who didn’t follow the graceful, yet powerful, wind’s command? Was it really so great to be human and not another animal of the wild- or even a fallen leaf off of an oak tree? Was this some privilege we were missing out on?
***
Sure I thought a lot when I was outside. But still, there was work to be done. I raked some more. The sun started to set, and the cold was more than enough to tell me the day was over for me. But my arms ached a bit and the pile of leaves up to above my knees was inviting. I wondered, for once all night, what the people around me thought of me. I wouldn’t say I cared enough to let it preoccupy all my thoughts, but I was more interested in how they perceived me and how I acted. What did my neighbors think as I stared at two simple birds, deep in thought? Did they feel the same, or did they shrug off my interest in a heartbeat? I decided I really didn’t care… but it WAS something to think about and of course, remember, I was keen- I was thinking.
So, as you may have expected, I sunk down into a soft pile of autumn leaves. It smelled like I remembered, as if the feeling wasn’t enough. I smiled. I remembered how much I was thinking, and I finally thought about him. I wondered if he thought about me and if he thought like me. Maybe he saw the leaves fall and wondered if a day would come when we would all fall like leaves. Maybe we would be crushed and rustled, but never disappear entirely. But would we fall with grace or shudder to a point of despair as we left our branch, our tree, our home, forever. Was it really such a cold world, or did I just think so? Did HE just think so? What about US? Did WE watch the leaves fall in the evening in the silent part of life when you take it as it comes and never fight back because it’s never quite worth it? It seemed a silly thing to think about after moments of careful consideration about the natural world; about its creatures. But still, it was SOMETHING.
It was quiet. There were no more birds, no more geese. I thought about my love- hate relationship with the sound of the leaves. I couldn’t escape it, and I stayed, so I must like it. I must like that sound… I must’ve always liked it.
As you lay in a pile of soft, fallen leaves there is always sound. There is always a rustle. You can lay as still as the ground, you could even die, right then, right there, and sound would not escape you. I could hear the rustle keep time with my heartbeat if I listened close enough. Yes, if you lie still enough, your own heartbeat will make leaves rustle. Even so, as at peace as I was, I was cold. In a moments time I decided it was a hot chocolate night, and this I had to look forward to, for if there was ever a drink to warm every bone in your body on an autumn night, it was hot chocolate.
I had to get up or I would fall asleep, but I was reluctant to do so. I knew if I were to stand now, my pile would be scattered. Leaves would be on my hair, my coat, my scarf, and my pants. My hard work would scatter off of me and the pile and blow away in the wind as simply as they fell… but then I thought- yet again, I thought. If the wind took them down, took them to me, to my rake, and decides to take them away again, who am I to defy the wind? The wind, that so graciously provides us a breeze on a hot day or simply lets us fly a kite so high as the clouds above your head while you watch such a simple thing- such an easy thing- float weightlessly as if it were itself a creature and not plastic. As if this was another one of God’s animals that the wind has no choice but to take with it in its burst of a gentle breeze.
No, it was ok. I had not the right to defy the wind that was put here so graciously for me. It was here to take everything with a reason- everything with a purpose- and put it in its place. From a copper leaf shuddering in a cold air only to meet the ground carefully, in just the right place, to a kite, manmade, hard, and cold, floating in the wind as if life has been placed into its core, the wind handled. And it handled with grace; with skill.