A Collection of Memories

In a few days
these leaves too will be gone,
dried up, their color faded,
wind or rain will carry them

away. They will disappear
into the forest and slowly crawl
into the earth, feeding
the seasons yet to come.

You no longer look ahead
to the spring. Those seasons
of life, those seasons to come
too often remind you less of hope

than loss. And so, you look only at now,
this fragile, transitory moment,
savoring the sun on your back,
the bright moment of color,

letting it be enough,
a whole world, God’s promise
erupting anew with each leaf,
a collection of moments

that somehow
make a life.

About this poem

Years ago, when I was in a particularly dark place, my counselor taught me the art of living in the moment. It was a survival tactic for a broken spirit then. Today, it is simply how I live.

It was not an easy change for me, who had lived a life of planning and projecting the future. I felt like, as I began the journey, that somehow it would mean losing something. But that did not prove to be the case. It enriched my life. Far beyond helping me survive, it taught me to thrive, and to plan differently, how to enjoy the journey, survive the dark spots, and revel in the bright ones.

The picture was taken in nearby Hebron, New York, a couple of weeks ago. The leaves are gone now. But not their memory.

Tom