It’s finally spring in the Adirondacks and a gazillion leaves have popped out all over. What were collections of stark, naked branches only three weeks before now stand tall as lush and vibrant walls of green.
The house has two old maples in the front yard, their branches draping lazily over the wide front porch. And lucky me, the studio window opens onto the porch roof allowing direct access to the trees’ inner sanctum.
Of course getting my body through the narrow window could be considered quite a challenge for an old codger like me. Generally, though, my enthusiasm to commune with the leaves provides all the limberness I need. And no sooner am I out on the roof than I’m transported into another world.
Although the roof’s lofty perch affords a clear view up and down the street, that sight rarely holds my interest. Instead I’m irresistibly drawn into the trees’ embrace, into their hearts, and into a state of deepening calm. Without fanfare or fuss, they gently cocoon me in their ancient peace.
On sunny days the leaves glow with a translucent inner light, bathing my rooftop refuge in gold and green tones. As my gaze leisurely wanders in and out of all the tiny leaf-worlds displayed before me, I’m coaxed closer and closer to that most enviable place; inner quiet. And if a gentle breeze succeeds in nudging the leaves into sleepy motion, there’s no inner disturbance at all, just playful shadows dancing happily across the sloping roof.
While the leafy canopy remains an endless source of dreamy inspiration, perhaps more significant is the gentle way it reminds me of what is important in life; love, creativity, joy, and peace.