Lorraine C. Lordi
You can't help but think about life and death when you're raking leaves. I know. This weekend, I was raking leaves. And I couldn't help but think about death. And life. If you were out raking, you were thinking about that, too. Whether you realized it or not.
Most likely, you didn't know that's what was on your mind. Most likely, you believed you were thinking about everything except the fate of leaves. And other things. Like would the Patriots make it a perfect 10? And how many things are still left to do in this upcoming holiday week?Thanksgiving already. How can that be possible?
Maybe while you were raking, your thoughts drifted toThanksgivings past. Those good old days. Or not so good old days. But don't you see? Every time your mind went to the past or jumped into the future, you were thinking, unconsciously, of the stuff way down deep all humans think about. The stuff their lives are made of. And that other thing nobody much likes to talk about. That last stage of life that begins with the letter "d".
But if you were out raking leaves, you thought about it. Even if you didn't realize it. Each time you pulled your rake in toward you and you looked down at that pile of lifeless leaves, what was it you saw? Hundreds upon hundreds of withered old plant bones that less than a month ago were dancing above your head and bragging about their fine colors.
And before that | way back in the summer | those little brittle leaves that you pierced with your rake were strong, green shoots, each one alive and absolutely vital to the miraculous process that is the key to all life on earth | photosynthesis.
Twirling on their tiny stems, those leaves trapped the sun's rays in their green gooey chlorophyll. Then talk about shock and awe. In less than a fraction of a second, a hundred different chemical reactions occurred within each growing leaf.
From springtime through July all the way into fall, those leaves acted like chefs in the kitchen. Each one took in carbon dioxide through their tiny pores, concocting sugars and starches and fats in their chloroplasts. And then once they were good and full of this food, they graciously sigh out the one thing they didn't need | oxygen. For us. And for all living creatures on land and in the sky. And in the water, too.
Oxygen, the key to life itself, surrounds us, invisible and constant. It comes from all those millions and trillions of green plants and leaves. Human life is so totally and completely dependent upon this unseen process going on within leaves. But how often do we even stop to think about that? How often do we bow our heads and give thanks for a little leaf?
Certainly not when their dead carcasses cover our lawns and clog our gutters. Certainly not when raking their holey remnants takes up our autumnal weekends. Certainly not when thoughts of past and future take leave of us momentarily, and there we are, standing in the present moment, looking down at the truth beneath those old brown leaves at our feet. It's that down-deep something we all know. That down-deep something we'd just as soon forget:
Every living thing lives. And every living thing dies.
We don't dwell on that truth any longer than we can help it. In fact, we push it out of our consciousness the minute it arises. All of a sudden, it's not such a bad thing, raking leaves. All of a sudden, the sky seems bluer. The sun, warmer. We breathe in the fall air. We believe we've never felt stronger.
As if to prove it, we stay outdoors for another hour, raking harder than we have all day. Finally, we stop and sit down on the stone fence out back. The one we built more than 20 years ago.
A leaf falls and lands at our feet. We pick it up and hold it in our hands. This time, we bow our head and give thanks.
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Lorraine Lordi lives in Londonderry. To order the most recent collection of her favorite Derry News columns, visit www.plumriverpress.com.
