Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Whitman's Got Nothing On Me

What more do you need to meditate on the transience of life here on earth than to have to rake up leaves in your yard?

I am so sick of these leaves. Why can’t they just stay on the trees?

Sure, they start out nice. Dark green in the early summer. Bright and colorful in the fall. But they have such a short time to live. I imagine it’s hard for them to find a sense of meaning and purpose. Leaves are probably stoics. Or perhaps Existentialists?


I suppose the truth is that the leaves live for the sake of the tree, right? Mindlessly, I think. I mean, that’s what they’re there for. They gather the sun for the tree. “Don’t distract me. I’m trying to photosynthesize here.” It’s all about the tree. And when the tree is finished with the leaves, it just drops them like a hot potato. They fall to the ground, an ignominious end for something so selfless.

It hardly seems fair. You might feel sorry for them.

If there weren’t so stinking many.

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

1 comment:

  1. i missed this one somehow... but i'm glad to have found it. what a great entry. i think this way so often and i still haven't come to any conclusions. of course, i agree with the picture of leaves living for the tree... as long as i continue to think towards that, then i am okay. the second i stop looking toward the tree and focus on the leaves, life becomes meaningless. of course.


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