Fall

The leaves burn with fall. Green bursts succumb to the weight of orange, yellow and red. They turn and catch the wind, pirouetting in silent gusts before they dance to the ground. I stand at the park, David strapped to my chest, watching Emmarie applaud the duet for the first time.

“Mommy. The leaves are falling!” She squeals and darts after a wayward leaf, her brown-tasseled boots flapping in the air. Its wrinkled form skips across the grass like a rock ground smooth by water before settling onto the grassy field.

Emmarie stands up, her arms spread to the amber sky as she runs and skips, leaf in hand. “Mommy, I haven’t seen this before!”

She’s seen it, of course. She’s seen the changing of the seasons for three years straight. But this year is different. This is the first year she’s breathed it in. The first year it’s filled her lungs, pushing them out until they are taut with beauty, until they have no choice but to contract and gasp in more, more, more. Yes. She’s tasted fall this October. Its hot chocolate and she can’t stop sipping on its warmth.

I stand on the path, silent. I can’t stop watching her watch fall. Three-year-old eyes glow as the brazen sky wears down life, creating majesty beneath her feet. For a moment, for a few seconds as the wind whirls and leaf rips and takes flight to the ground, I see what she sees: It’s in the breaking of life that beauty rises.

A branch cracks in the wind and falls to the ground. “Mommy, look!”

Tired eyes follow little feet as they run to find the stick. “A wand, mommy, a wand!” Crack, break, fall. Life ending. New life beginning. I see it now, in these seconds, these moments of broken glory. Life made possible by death.

I think of Clara, the daughter gone but alive in God, in us. Her blue-black eyes spill into every hidden crevice of my mind.

I think of her in heaven. Of her life made possible by death, Jesus’ death on the cross. Broken glory. Majesty beneath our feet.

“Mommy, let’s run!” Emmarie giggles and takes off, branch-wand in hand, oblivious to my heart’s musings. The baby strapped to my chest smiles and gasps as we take flight after his sister. “Mommy come on!”

Leaves spin and whirl around our feet. We move with the wind, running as it runs. New leaves trickle down, floating by our heads. The baby reaches towards the splendor.  We are with it, in it, around it. The sun dips. The shadows darken. The leaves blush and blossom in the afterglow.  New life made possible by death.