Dry Leaves

Tumbling, scratching, and whirling in the wind, they flow over and around obstacles as they approach me. Each dry leaf seems alive with mysterious purpose – a trajectory of multiple possibilities. They reflect to me the sweeping and intelligent chaos inherent in nature. In abundance, these crispy canopy castoffs give shape to the invisible force of wind that drives them onward. Something inside me quickens as they crash gently against my body, and then continue onward to their final resting place. They seem content to let the forces of nature take them were they will. I imagine faeries riding them, laughing wildly, winking at me as they fly by.

Creative thoughts are like dry leaves. Often, as if a gust of wind has blown them to me, ideas rush at me crowding my mind, clamoring for attention. I grasp at them, each one a path of possibility. Some are more interesting than others, but all have a place to which they would lead me if I could follow.

Not all are meant for me, I think. Creative thoughts merely come towards me, rather than to me. Some I capture and translate into stories; others become art, or convey to me insights into spirit and nature. Those I am unable to catch sail onward, delivering their inspiration to someone else. Or perhaps it is simply not time for a particular idea to be tethered to the physical world. Indeed, a frustration overcomes me in my futile attempt to gather all to me, lest they move on never to return. This, I now see, is akin to hoarding fruit from a vast, abundant orchard. To focus on gathering every thought and idea simply to imprison them on paper (for fear of losing them), risks my chance to develop even one.

Comments

[Donald G]

'…crispy canopy castoffs"?
Well said!

- DG

[Christine Boyka Kluge]

Love that comparison! Just walked underneath those swirling and drifting "ideas" this afternoon. The air was filled with inspiration.