The other day, the boy entranced a new sitter by gathering a pile of the beautiful yellow-orange leaves scattered across our building's courtyard and fashioning them into a necklace for her; he even wrote a sweet card.
At first, I didn't connect the fact that these gorgeous leaves came from the same cherry trees that provide a transitory riot of pink in the spring. When I did, I was struck by the fact that they provide beauty throughout the seasons.
The sitter was in her 20s, in the spring of her life, brimming with a sort of enthusiasm I can't seem to muster these days. The leaves complimented her sunny disposition as much as her coral sweater.
Lately, I've been feeling nostalgic for the spring of my 20s, 30s even 40s. Yes, I know in my head I'm supposed to be in a good place. I have dear friends with great sites (Midlife at the Oasis; The Best of Everything After 50) telling me so. But as I get older and life gets more complicated, my heart is often heavy with worries that keep me up at night.
I need to remember that, like the cherry trees, all seasons of life offer their own special beauty. That before the leaves turn to brown, they can provide a new jolt of color. That I have to try to find my own, bolder shades.
I've never looked good in orange, but it might be time to try a splash of scarlet.