It could have been any day of the week, but the fact it was a Sunday morning felt like poetic justice. The sun glowed the most vibrant orange, bringing light to the golden, crimson and saffron leaves, some still holding onto the dark branches above, while others gathered beneath the tree to create a lush carpet of colour.
There was no way I would miss tromping through those leaves to hear that crunch, to kick up a few like a child needs to do, like I need to do each fall. I threw on my lumber jacket, with a poppy on my chest pocket, and my favourite boots and walked the property.
May I never be too distracted by life’s dramas to be mesmerized by watching the way a single leaf cascades from a tree limb, like an acrobat leaping from a high wire, twirling their descent. It was quiet enough to hear the leaf land in the chorus of leaves lying in wait. Beautiful.
Beyond the fence line, a blanket of mist hovered over the farm field. I watched the air floating softly. I stopped to practise a few deep breaths and watched plumes of my own exhaled air swirl and dissipate. Intentional moments matter.
I walked along to find the grass in the pasture frosted, like someone had spray painted the grounds with silver white glitter, highlighting the green blades of grass. My footprints left a mark in the dew, so I made a heart pattern before heading up the laneway.
I took the trail that heads into the forest, over the little bridge the Carpenter made for me to cross the stream. The water was still and shallow, but filled with colours, like a beautiful soup broth of leaves.
Traipsing through the forest trail on a property I have come to love with my whole heart, I knew every bend of the trail, every root that gnarls out of the ground to trip the unprepared, the low branches and the mound of bright orange pine needles that creates a little hill, covering the rich earth below.
I heard them before I saw them. Four deer, camouflaged in the tall grass, amongst the birch. I stopped in my tracks and they in theirs. Branches snapped. Birds fluttered. I heard the pitched sound deer make to alert their friends of danger. I stood silently for a long time, as my exhaled breath-clouds formed and faded, waiting for the deer to move so I could watch their majesty. Worth it.
I was aware in this sacred moment what a privilege it is to be here, now. With Remembrance Day this week, I reflected on the sacrifices made for our nation’s existence in the darkest days of humanity. People I loved endured that horror. People I loved are or have served this country since, training and working in conflicts from which we, the public, are detached. Without their sacrifices, I would not have this morning, this moment, this land to shape me, or my education to teach me how fortunate I am to be a Canadian. I never take that for granted.
Remembrance can be as simple as a walk in the woods, taking a moment of gratitude, thoughts of prayer (or whatever word suits you), and recognizing how fortunate you are to be Canadian. We have so much to be grateful for, and so much progress ahead. Remember that. Remember them.
Lest we forget.
