Leaves as teachers of prayer . . .

The Leaves

The leaves had a wonderful frolic.
They danced to the wind's loud song.
They whirled, and they floated, and scampered.
They circled and flew along.
The moon saw the little leaves dancing.
Each looked like a small brown bird.
The man in the moon smiled and listened.
And this is the song he heard.
The North Wind is calling, is calling,
And we must whirl round and round,
And then, when our dancing is ended,
We'll make a warm quilt for the ground.
Anonymous


Today in my morning prayer, the Scriptures were from Luke, in which the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray.  I looked up from my book and viewed the maple tree beyond my patio. Slowly, lovingly, and with inner knowing it was giving a nod to each falling leaf that it was time to let go. Truly, my patio companion was teaching me how to pray!

Oh, how I visited this view often in the spring to watch the buds take shape and birth forth the fragile beauty of the new leaves unfolding.  I remember how each leaf participated in the dance of the April ice storm, the summer intense sun and rains, and the rush of tornadic winds . . . Now it time to pray them in gratitude for their journey. And so with each falling leaf, I was being taught how to pray. To pray in gratitude for what was, and to pray in openness to what will be.

I prayed in gratitude . . .
• for each person I have met along my summer journey as I listened to the joyful and sorrowful mysteries of their lives.
• for each memory of the tragedies of nature – floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, fires, earthquakes, and volcanoes.. .  learning once again,  that with some things there is no control, but only honoring our understanding to be in partnership with earth as its stewards.
• for each moment I gathered with friends to celebrate thresholds, turning points,  anniversaries, jubilees, professions, passings, and fun times to mark the day.
• for each Birthday card I received . . .
• for each opportunity to photograph the streams, flowers, trees, mushrooms, birds, sunrises, and moonsets . . .
• for each time of prayer in which the silence spoke of Divinity . . .
May I continue to listen to the falling leaves as they teach me how to pray.
For all that was, I give thanks. For all that will be, I pray with openness and hope.