Listen...

Listen...

With faint dry sound,

Like steps of passing ghosts,

The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees

And fall. 

This poem was written in the late 1800's by American poet Adelaide Crapsey. Yes, unfortunate last name. Though this poem is titled November Night, I've been thinking about it a lot this month. I love the images it brings to mind. 

Sequoia, Winter 2011

Someone walking through a forest, fog gathering at their feet, suddenly stopping in their tracks. Still, but not in silence, they take in the sounds around them, witnessing the ordinary miracle of a tree releasing it's leaves, aware that in letting go, it will then be able to receive.


Or maybe I'm reading too much into things. I've been known for being a bit melodramatic. (It's genetic.)

Nevertheless, as today marks Ash Wednesday and the first day of Lent. I'm reminded of my need to be still and listen. To observe the ordinary miracles that surround me, hoping that this season of letting go might also heighten my sensitivity to hear, to enjoy, and to receive.