To Catch a Falling Leaf

Halloween weekend…was so excited to dress as a cat, Cat Woman to be exact. I had waited all year to sport her perky ears, full of fun tail, carefully penned whiskers, and false eyelashes more dramatic than they needed to be and yet exactly as they needed to be. And with great anticipation, I dressed early as to not be late and to not rush readying. But in a last minute decision after dropping off my son at his Halloween Party, the blue sky, white clouds to my left, called me instead East to hike, leaving the soiree contently in the West.

I decided to hike Rattlesnake Ledge, a familiar trail for me – today called for the friend of familiarity – having trekked it’s trail dozens of times. On this day, breaking my personal best up the mountain was not the goal…and yet it happened as its way on its own. Pain is a powerful fuel.

But a funny thing happened on this particular day on this not in particular trail. I was met with more “Hi”’s and “Hello”’s than ever on my frequented trail over years. At first it was intrusive to my sought solace, intent to arrive for my awaiting soul nourishment at the summit. But gradually, my spirit softened with each sincerely shared smile and lightness of being with each traveler’s greeting. It even slowed my step and a pause for conversation on the bridge with someone who’s eyes locked with mine as…I caught a falling leaf.

“Wow,  that was cool!”, she said. “That was,” I agreed as I held the most delicate leaf that literally fell into my open hand that was in gesture to her climb, her being a newby and needing encouragement to continue up with her companioning pack. There were trees, sure, all around, from where the leaf could have come, but none appeared close enough to be within reason of it falling exactly, and in that moment, into my palm. It was damp. Maybe from earlier rain, maybe also from it holding still some of its life before decaying in the next day or so, meeting its demise. No matter it's reason, I was grateful for it - for it's  mystery and for it's moisture, calling me out of my singular mission, bringing me into its instead. A message, if unknown, but clear.

I chose to carry the leaf the rest of the way of the two thirds left of my up. It was soft in my holding too tight hand. It was not yet ready to crinkle into pieces of itself. I loosened my grip and let it feel safe to be whole for its while.

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” ~ Albert Camus

When I reached the summit I felt myself unconsciously breathe a deep, deeper than I can remember ever, breath of the air’s crispness, before finding a spot, my spot, near the mountain's edge. “You made it”, a man, who I may have on an ordinary day found attractive, but on this day had eyes not open to things of such nature, said giving me a high-five…clearly unknowing that I’d made it to the top of that spot a couple dozen times. I smiled. He complimented my sunglasses. I tried to look busy with digging into my bag for my pen and paper.  "Good", I said inside, I am certain, when he went down slope. Solitude was again mine to find.

 

Until, “Ahhhhh it is beautiful. You were right. The view was worth it.” The girl from the bridge from below, greeting me on the rock. Even though aloneness was my intended trajectory, I was happy to see her eyes a’sparkle at her determination that she seemed eager to have me share in, her crew a step behind, all who started to engage with me – clearly ignoring my “Can’t you see I want to be left be,” signs with my writing and book in hand. There were five of them. “Are you a writer?” one of the guys asked. “I am”, I forced a cordial reply – how mannnny times have I been up there at that spot with writing journal, laptop, paper in hand and have never had that asked yet this time, no writing journal in my impromptu hike on this day, and no laptop to giveaway that I was a writer. What.was.happening today!

Forty minutes later a closerness was formed with these had been strangers and I, as they wanted to hear about my stories and…my story…and in turn was equally interested in theirs. We finished off with a handshake and she asked if they could keep in touch. They were delightful young, vibrant twenty-something year olds with so much love for life in their eyes and hope still evident in that beautifully naïve way that is youth’s to hold. I was happy to have them broken me from my spell of retreat and was happier to take photos for them, to capture and memorialize their aliveness in the magic that is 2,000 feet up.

 Several more encounters like this happened. Including a conversation of hilarity as a guy called me out on hiking in leather pants. He was all too kind to laugh with me as I explained the diverted choice of paths - from comic book feline'ing to dirt walking instead - and we shared laughs as he said that I should have just worn the entire costume up rather than leaving half of it in my car down way. I no longer remembered that I wanted to be alone on this day. He made me forget that was my goal.

 The final now welcome interruption, as clearly soloing it was not the Universe’s intention despite it being mine,  was a filmmaker and his partner, a photographer and writer. Unfolding now, this day, was a day of inspiration and for a collective share of creative energy. These two TOO approached me - how from my scratch paper on the backside of a concert ticket and makeshift desk on a small book they could know, “Are you a writer?” And the conversation weaving grew, again, from there.

Sunset happened to us on the hilltop, shadows fell now behind us, in spirit and in structure, as the film guy said, “Now I know why I was up here today later than we had planned to arrive – to meet you. I am newer to Seattle, only a year, and had yet to have met my tribe. And here you are.” In that moment I felt a peace, different than the one I had first set out to find on my random fork in the day’s agenda. But one better all the more.

With the sun setting at my back, I ran the entire two mile descent, not because I wanted to rush, not like my hike up. I had no reason within calling me to expedite my down -  that all had dissipated in the calm of the thin air, and the unifying of energy, miles up. No, I ran because I wanted to feel, in my lightness of step, the rush of the movement against my face that comes only in the not walking under foot. A confirmation of all that is still alive in my Fall.

Today…each of these people, were catching me…a falling leaf. The heaviness of my head was held by each stranger who sought, and drew out, connection to me on that significant day of all ones. And in sharing of our stories, our hopes, our goals, passions, dreams and desires, we were engaging in the way of Autumn -  a time of renewal and reflection and a season of rebirth and of resonance in its stillness that is not that of Spring or Summer mountain-walking. The leaf knows it, as it falls with some hope for survival still in it as its stored nutrients can last it a day or so.

That day I sketched fewer words than anticipated, but none meant as much as my ones written, “Today I caught a falling leaf.” Today I caught a falling leaf, softening its to below and carrying it to feel sun on a peak if for just giving it a little life longer. “Today I caught a falling leaf. And we were both better for it.”