As I sat gazing back and forth from my little house, pondering my daily calendar, my human existence of allotted hours and how best to maximize my time—all important in my own head—scheduling and planning, mentally shifting time slots to accommodate tasks in “green time” or “red time,” there it was—falling directly in my line of vision, a smallish red leaf from our plum tree, softly dropping to the grass below, easily  missed had I not been focused directly on that open space of green before my eyes. A simple but powerful reminder of time passing, time unstoppable—time on it’s own schedule, every day 24 hours long, every hour 60 minutes, month after month, year after year. Seasons. Here in mid July, still full with foliage and fat plums, the tree knows fall—and winter—are close as it lets go one small leaf, preparing ever so quietly, precisely, steadily, and matter of fact to emulate the cycle in nature—the plum, the leaf, neither ponders whether it should let a leaf fall, or whether its’ time to flutter down—it just happens—timelessly, never-ending, always at precisely the right moment.


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