There was a time I enjoyed them, waited for them. I especially looked forward to the maple leaves because they were the prettiest - setting the sidewalks and fields aglow with brilliant colors. At seven years old, I loved to go for walks to gather the brightest leaves, looking for the red and orange ones first, before settling on some yellow ones too. I would flatten them in books, trying to preserve the colors that only came around once a year and for such a short time. I was addicted to colors and beauty.
Twenty-five years later they make me pause, suck in my breath, and breathe hard. Despite the chill in the air and the nearing of October, somehow my body always responds as if it is surprised to see them. My walks are mostly obligatory now, because I own a dog who has an endless supply of energy and needs an outlet.
We stroll, me a bit reluctantly, with Selah pulling ahead on the leash. I tug her leash towards me, causing her to pay attention.
“Selah, heel!” I hiss.
She obeys for four seconds, then inches ahead again, pursuing an invisible prey. We pass the bridge, the crab apple trees, and turn onto a paved path through a wooded area. More leaves litter the ground, and I attempt to ignore them. Unfortunately, my body remembers clearly, and unwelcome tears prick my eyes.
Just keep walking. They are just leaves.
My emotions are unconvinced. Fear, dread, and feelings of desperation swell into my chest, uninvited.
A few drops of rain begin to fall from the overcast sky, dotting the ground, and that is all it takes for the tears to start streaming down my face. It isn’t supposed to feel this way. The emotions come back so strong, it’s like reliving the exact moments. I see the pictures in my head, so clear. I feel the-gut wrenching loneliness in my stomach that is so intense I become nauseated. My chest feels tight, so does my throat. It is hard to breathe. My stomach churns.
I force my legs forward, with each step, determined to move. If I stop and sit down to regain my composure, I am afraid I won’t be able to get back up.
An object in motion stays in motion. Just keep moving.
The leaves transport me back to the time we lived in the shed, where the changing of the season made me acutely aware of the darkness and cold that were coming. Driven to prepare for the coming winter, I tried desperately to secure every resource I could, to make sure we had enough food and clothing and anything else I could think of, to make it through the bitterly cold days and nights that were imminent.
The wood for heat was always in short supply. Despite begging Devlin to take down a tree in the summer, so it could season and dry out to be ready for firewood by the time the weather necessitated, he refused. Unseasoned wood was too full of sap and moisture to burn well and produce any decent amount of heat. So as the days shortened and the chill in the air grew more pronounced, I scoured the property for any dried or dead wood I could find. I hoarded sticks and broken tree branches like a squirrel hoards nuts, and with the same, or greater, urgency. Unlike the squirrels, however, I could not depend on hibernation to keep us alive in the following months. I would, instead, be constantly feeding a dwindling fire, wrapping wiggly children in blankets, and trying to cook dried cornmeal patties on the top of the wood stove before the fire died out again. Keeping it going was a constant struggle because of the stove’s tiny size.
I feel a tug on the leash and realize Selah, now behind me, has paused to pee. I stop to give her time, and allow the second wave of nausea to wash over me. This time I try to distract from the sensation. I don’t want to relive the memories, relive the feelings. I’m so tired of it.
Glancing down, I see a large curl of birch bark, smooth and white, tilted on its side in the grass. I love birch bark; it is soft and inviting. I pick it up and imagine myself writing a note on the bark, with the juice of the poke root berries that grow prolifically here. They stain so well.
S.O.S.
I picture pinning it to a tree, as my personal sign; piercing a hole through it and threading it onto a broken twig on a nearby trunk of an elm. Would anyone notice?
More importantly, would anyone care?
For so many years, those who should have cared, had not. Maybe the whole world is like that. I wouldn’t know, I try to avoid people. They are so complicated. Unsafe.
We continue our walk, finally reaching the sidewalk that circles back home, and my footsteps even into a new pace - two steps per sidewalk square. One, two, three, four steps – all while avoiding the cracks. I had learned well in elementary school. “Step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back.” Kids will come up with anything ridiculous as long as it rhymes.
Ahead of us, enticed by the rain, an earthworm struggles across the rough concrete, skinning its soft body as it wriggles against the abrasive concrete in the search for safe ground. Worms were not designed to cross such a harsh landscape; they were built to slither though slippery holes in mushy ground. I pause, putting my sandal close to him so he can inch up onto it. I scrunch my toes up so he doesn’t touch me, worms gross me out. Once he has partially climbed onto the edge, I fling my foot forward, sending him flying into the grass, and get a shiver down my spine. I think of the saying “You may not be able to change the world, but you can make a difference for this one.”
That’s my goal. To make a difference for this one. And the next one. And not earthworms, but people. Traumatized people. The ones who need hope.
My friend, Nicole, says to utilize times like this - the times where flashbacks take my breath away, and leave me feeling gutted and terrified. She believes in taking the exact same triggers of trauma and redeeming them - “taking back the territory” she calls it. Logically it makes sense. Instead of avoiding the things that were once a pleasure but now cause pain, I can reclaim the beauty by being intentional about it. I can choose to live in the moment and survive. I can determine to actively notice the beauty, and try to detach it from the dread.
But that’s logic, and right now I’m stuck in emotions and I just want to forget. If I wait a few weeks, maybe then I can do an experiment in redeeming the pain - once the leaves dry out and turn crispy. I love the sound of crunchy leaves - it’s the best sound in the world. Right now, I’m too tired to be intentional about anything. My body wants a nap. No, actually, my heart wants a nap.
As we near the driveway, a tulip poplar leaf flutters down from above, grazing my cheek on its journey to the ground. I frown, convinced that some tree has decided to be ornery today, in sending me this unwelcome offering. I pull Selah down the driveway, ignoring the objectionable gift. Tulip poplars don’t turn colors – they turn straight to ugly brown, never displaying any dazzling reds or oranges - as if they have nothing beautiful left to offer to the world anymore.
I don’t want to be like that. I want to be like a maple leaf.
Sucking in a breath, I make the choice, despite the sadness, to keep going. To keep walking. To keep breathing. I remember a saying that “Autumn is nature’s way of showing us that even endings can be beautiful.”
For now, despite the rain and leaves, I will choose the beautiful. After all, the pain in the past had an ending; maybe I can believe the present pain will have one too. And that ending, like the colors of the leaves, will be beautiful.
Heartrending and beautiful. 💜