We all notice when there’s a gorgeous
blazing sunset, but every day Earth is like an outdoor gallery full of installation art pieces.
Stepping out of the car this week, I
noticed a brilliant rose-coloured leaf in a small pile that the wind had blown into
a corner of my driveway’s retaining wall. Even though it was a cold, rainy day,
I had to pause for a closer look.
There, set against the charcoal-grey
asphalt background was a freeform sculpture. Two red-pink pointed ovals from a
neighbour’s bush lay among buttercup-yellow heart shapes and curled rusty maple
leaves. The intensity of rose and yellow contrasted deliciously with the darker
shades of maple.
My eyes widened as they focussed on a
surprise in the background. The biggest leaf, about three inches long and surf-board-shaped,
was a luscious brown; it looked like leather, flat and smooth without a hint of
withering. I stood up and looked around to see what tree held such leaves. No
use. They must have flown some distance, a wild ride on the gusty day.
Some small ginko leaves added to the beauty,
their summer green now fading to ecru. Ginko leaves are shaped like perfect
fans, complete with stem handles.
The Artist who composed this installation is
so prolific and wealthy that I’m sure She won’t mind; I scooped up two
hand-fulls of the leaf sculpture, carried as much of it inside as I could, and
re-installed it haphazardly on my kitchen window sill.
Sunny yellow, burnt orange, chocolate brown
and brilliant rose; are these the colours of death?
I’ve two funerals to attend this week.
Both
are for men who were not elderly and who, before cancer appeared, filled their
lives with adventures, with laughter and with family love. One was an engineer
and stand-up comic, the other an accountant who dressed as a clown for the
Santa Claus parade. It hurts to imagine the pain left for one man’s 12 year old
daughter and the other’s five little grandchildren... his aging mother… his
widow.
Surely the Creator who designed joyful colours
to be revealed in Fall’s dying leaves meant them as a metaphor. Even in the
face of death there is hope. The clues are everywhere that death is not the
end. This is, however, a truth easy in the saying; in practice, bitterly hard can
be the wait for spring.
