So I took a friend to his chiropractic appointment this morning, and two coincidences coincided so concisely as to imply some kind of sacred synchronicity was at work. The first was that I had been yanked from a morning routine that had included some spiritual reflections on personal emptiness to afford this friend a ride, and the second was that his appointment was early enough that none of the strip mall stores had opened their doors to the occasional morning passersby. Suddenly I was on the crisp morning edge of nature and suburbia with nothing to do but wonder around and think through the morning’s dilemma.
Reflection is so much easier for me when I cross the boundary into the natural realm as opposed to the rush and bustle of the human hive. It was just across the street on an empty lot, but there were a few trees and wild grass growing there and the draw was inevitable. I felt like I was having a societal ‘time out’ in the corner while the morning commute flashed by. While I stood there my eyes scanned the ground beneath the barren trees that lined the edge of the sidewalk. Between the patches of snow that had survived the latest thaw cycle were the leaves these trees had shed which lay scattered about like bits of identification tossed from a stolen wallet. They showed me the trees name, but there was something more for the quiet mind to decipher.
These leaves were waiting. They were awaiting the thaw that only spring can bring in full, when new warmth, moisture and a hungry earth will draw the last of their life into the womb to sustain life’s next radiant shower. The trees were waiting as well. Even standing this close I heard no straining grunts nor groans of effort to produce something, only the wind whispering through uplifted boughs came to my ears. That, and of course, the whooshing of cars rushing off to produce something out of this economic low. To find something to bring home to fill the holes.