On my morning walk today I had the amazing experience of being baptized by leaves. Baptized by an all-out deluge of tiny, green leaves tinged brown at their edges, falling straight down on me and my surprised big, black dog. I simply had to stop and take it all it. Feel the feathery bits flutter all around me. The wind was strong and seemed to be saying to the tree: ” Now. It’s time. Let go.”

Shaking the leftover baptism green off my shoulders, I continued down the street noticing the trees who still had leaves teetering on their branches. They stood straight against the freezing temperatures alongside those trees whose trunk and branches are now naked in the wind. Every now and then one lone leaf would let go and fall, slowly, softly toward the waiting brown grass.

I thought of a children’s book popular in the ’70s and ’80s called The Fall of Freddie the Leaf. It was written by Leo Buscaglia. It was a poignant little story of the leaves on one particular tree and their way of educating Freddie, who was afraid of falling, of the unknown of what happened after life on the tree. It was one way of helping children, and adults, soften their own fears of letting go, of mystery, of death.

Outside my office window is a magnificent oak tree. There are many Freddies hanging on it right now. Leaves that seem to have been left alone by their neighboring foliage. I have been watching them and blessing them, hoping their letting go is gentle and their landing is sweet. Hoping that at some level we all understand, tree, leaf and human, that the letting go brings surprises we can only imagine but perhaps never understand. Hoping that we all realize that our living and dying connect us with the Great Mystery and the on-going living that is this Universe.

I begin most funerals and memorial services with a poem by Nancy Wood. It helps me lift before those gathered the beauty and gift of our living. It is also a good reminder of the gift of this season in which we find ourselves:

You shall ask
What good are dead leaves
And I will tell you
They nourish the sore earth.
You shall ask
What reason is there for winter
And I will tell you
To bring about new leaves.
You shall ask
Why are the leaves so green
And I will tell you
Because they are rich with life
You shall ask
Why must summer end
And I will tell you
So that the leaves can die.

On this day, I am thankful for baptism. A baptism of leaves that reminds me of the gift of living and of dying. And the blessed Circle of Life of which we are all a part.