Crunch! The dry leaves announced...
Illustration
Crunch! The dry leaves announced each step she took down the wooded path. It was one of those crisp Saturday mornings that rustle with perfection, the kind of morning that demands one's participation in its crinkly splendor. In times past, she had come to the forest often. But busyness had crept into her life on silent paws and ever so subtly, one small piece at a time, had stolen her freedom. Now the moments she had available for shuffling through fallen leaves were far too few and all the more precious because of their rarity. She had missed the peace of this place; coming here to walk, look, listen among the trees fed her soul. It had been too long; she sensed her spirit had become as dry and raspy as the leaves. They seemed to whisper welcome as her feet cracked through their brittleness. The predator in her life was acquiescence; she simply did not know how to say "NO!" when someone asked her to commit herself to one more thing. And this thief had stolen far more than woodland solitude; it had stripped away her time for simply being -- being with herself, connecting; being with God, communing. She could not remember when she had last given God a conscious thought -- until now. From the very edge of her awareness a profound peace began to seep through her as if some psychic dam had finally cracked. How could she have so neglected God whom she loved as none other? How had she allowed the mundane things of everyday living to crowd God out, to steal her focus, to sap her strength? How could she have lost her heart, the core of her being, as surely as these trees had lost their leaves? Soon the forest would sleep, blanketed in winter. She felt a growing kinship with the naked trees and envied them their season of rest. And with sudden insight she realized that for both herself and the forest, winter was necessary before there could be a spring. -- Fannin
