I am a leaf laying on the ground beneath a luxurious maple tree, the branches hanging over me like a protective barrier in hues of various stages of brilliant golds and reds. It is shedding its leaves baring its branches and in a matter of a few more weeks or even days, it will stand naked before the eyes of whoever passes by.
Some of the maple tree’s branches reach up above the houses while others stretch wide, and still, others hover towards the ground as though trying to capture the leaves on the ground to cover itself up with.
I am sitting here this morning trying to accomplish something, anything, but the more I try to get things straight in my head, the more my thoughts scatter around like leaves blowing around in a fall wind.
I cannot think this morning. I recognize this state of mind and all I can do is acquiesce to the meanderings of my thoughts. As I often do through my fingers, I am writing to see if somehow through the written word, I can line up my thoughts so that I can get something done today.
As I sit here and read the last sentence that I wrote, I realize that this is pointless. I can’t line up my thoughts no more than I can line up the fallen leaves of the maple tree. The only thing I can do is allow my thoughts to scatter around in a dance of pure joy. I need to give in to this state of mind and make beautiful things through my fingers. After all, there are no rules in a disembodied brain.