Walking the furry ones and watched the yellow leaves flutter to the ground. Dead leaves make that unique, slightly cracking/brittle sound when they fall into each other, and it got me thinking how “money doesn’t grow on trees.”
And I found myself wishing it did.
How great it would be to have coins fall to the ground…but then I thought it wouldn’t be so great—not for the birds. No place to hide or live, no soft material for their nest. And really, no good for us, either. Who wants to get clunked on the head with a coin?
And then I realized trees do have a currency of their own, and those leaves really are coins. But not the monetary kind. They’re rustling reminders of the change of season—that life shifts and morphs and we need to enjoy the quiet, happy moments while we have them.
Leaves fall and twirl, and catch the light, they gust on the wind and remind us how lucky we are to feel sun and air, to be in a country where women can walk alone without a male escort, where animals have rights, and men can stay home with their kids.
This is a good life we lead, not perfect, not easy, but good. And all that wealth held in our hearts are thanks to the currency of trees.