I was out for a walk late this afternoon. I’ve had a few days that haven’t been so great for a variety of reasons, and needed to clear my head.

On the ground near the edge of the walking path, amidst all the fallen leaves of faded green and yellow and light orange, were two red leaves.

I picked them up, running my fingers over their smooth surface, drinking in the beauty of their color and marveling at the fact that they had been green — the opposite color — before they were ever this rich red hue.


You can change from what you were before.

The thought came instantly into my head.

You can change from what you were before.

This seemed a morally neutral statement, one that could be both hopeful and hopeless depending on the change and what came before it. For the time being, it was a hopeful thing for me, though I am aware that even good change brings bits of pain as you shed things you very much wish to keep.

Like leaves falling from the trees, going from green to red.