Mincey’s Musings
Year Two, Week Thirty

Leaving Leaves

Leaf After Leaf Drops Off

Leaf after leaf drops off, flower after flower,
Some in the chill, some in the warmer hour:
Alive they flourish, and alive they fall,
And Earth who nourished them receives them all.
Should we, her wiser sons, be less content
To sink into her lap when life is spent?
--Walter Savage Landor

I found this poem in an old volume of poetry I purchased a short while ago from KARM [Clark, T. C. and Gillespie, E. A. (1937). 1000 Quotable Poems: An Anthology of Modern Verse. New York: Harper& Brothers, 233.].
It is an old saying that death comes in threes. The Grim Reaper has been very visible in my neighborhood this month. This past Saturday, beloved teacher and friend Polly Dyer entered her eternal rest, and just this morning I learned that friend and neighbor L. D. Monroe also passed away.
At just this somber time of life the above poem crossed my path. I find it sweetly bitter. First comes the sweet.
Imagine our lives as thriving evergreen bushes, perhaps a holly. As the years pass, we establish our roots firmly in the soil and grow to maturity during gentle rains and pleasant weather. Our branches grow longer and reach to heights that as a sprout we could only imagine. We stretch our branches to the nurturing elements, trying to mingle with other bushes to make strong, impenetrable hedges. We even make snow prettier. We produce seeds that are carried by friendly winds and soaring birds to beautify parts of the world that we will never see.
Our friends and acquaintances are the birds and leaves that adorn our outstretched limbs. Some build nests and stay for a long time, others turn brown and fall away quickly, but there are always new birds, leaves and sometimes bright, red berries or blooms to help us beautify the world, provide nectar for the bees and butterflies, and produce oxygen to help sustain other life.
Then comes the bittersweet. There are hard rains and strong winds that threaten to wash or tear us from the ground. Some of our friends can’t stand with us in these troubled times and drift away, finding other places to roost or returning to nature as mulch or carpeting for the forest floor. Occasionally we might be attacked. Sometimes we and our fellow foliage are preyed upon by disease, weeds, wild animals, destructive mankind and other pestilence. Hopefully in these dangerous times a loving gardener protects, trims, transplants and fertilizes us so that we can keep on being useful and beautiful in a world that can at times be ugly.
Finally, bitter times come. We struggle throughout the years to maintain our dignity and purpose; however, every living thing has a beginning and end in this world. Time takes its toll, and our branches are just not able to withstand the cold, the wind, the insects. The birds, bees and butterflies don’t find us appealing any longer. One by one our leaves and fellow shrubs disappear. As the people who loved us and cared for us move on and the houses we protect rot under us, decay, urban development and human progress take over the lots we once made so pretty, and we just don’t fit into the scheme of things any longer. We are lonely, and there’s just not the energy and joy to thrive we had when we were younger. So we die.
But are things then sweet again? Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 (KJV) says: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted”. That would be sadly bitter, if that was the end. But according to Job 14: 7-9 (KJV): “For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; Yet through the scent of water it will bud and bring forth boughs like a plant.”
We are never gone as long as someone remembers us fondly. Oh, the fond memories I have of other days, other shrubs. Yes, fellow bushes, we live on in the memories of the children who used to play around and under our branches, the lovers we shielded as we stole kisses, the homeowners whose porches we shaded. We live on in the pictures for which we provided such a lovely background. We live on in the new bushes that sprang from our seedlings, our roots, and we return to the elements and even in death become decorations to adorn homes, finally fertilizing the earth to help our successors thrive and grow.
May we all make the world more pleasant while we live, and may we leave sweet fragrances and pleasant memories when the elements reclaim us for the benefit of a new generation. May the leaves we scatter make the world a better place for a new garden.