Little Tree, Big Roots
Everybody else is doing it. This letting go thing. It is the season for it, apparently. The wind is whispering, "let go of what you no longer need". The trees are dropping their old leaves, humans are letting go of their old stories and patterns. But she just can't seem to let go. Her leaves are an integral part of her, they are her.
She doesn't have many leaves, she's young compared to all the tall, standing ones surrounding her. It feels to her that if she let go of her leaves she'd be letting go of most of who she is. Then what? Who would she be then? Would she even be a tree?
But everyone else is doing it. Surely if they can let go and survive the winter then so can she.
These leaves have been attached securely for months now, they've lasted through the summer storms and caterpillar munch sessions. They grew out of her! They are part of her. How is she supposed to flick them off the end of her twigs?
She turned to Grandmother Oak, the largest, oldest tree she can sense around her. They say her acorns birthed all the oaks on this hillside. Through the mycelial underground network she sends a message for help. Then she waits, drinking in the last of the sinking sun rays, letting the wind rustle her.
Sure enough the answer comes, as sure as summer turns to autumn which turns to winter.
"No need to worry about letting go my love. Simply, nourish your roots, feed what's important right now and the rest will take care of itself."
As soon as she receives the message she knows what to do. She's been feeling it for days now, this draw downwards, a sinking into the roots. She'd been trying to fight it, to keep uplifted, to keep sending her energy up into her leaves, reaching for the sun ever further and further away. But it is not the time for reaching, it's the time for sinking. That's what everyone is doing, falling down, coagulating, allowing the earth to draw them in.
With a sigh of relief she stops resisting what she feels. Allowing the ancient wisdom of the forest to guide her down and in. With each pulsing of sap she relaxes a little more, each round traveling a little less far from her roots. Allowing the heaviness to pull her energy down, deeper down, into the rich soil.
Noticing as she relaxes and lets her sap be dense and dwell more in her trunk and roots that some magic takes ahold of her leaves. Their green now slowly transforming a little each day into yellow, orange and red. She feels them softening, curling, mellowing. With an upwelling of gratitude for each leaf she blesses them as they fell to the forest floor, mingling with their brothers and sisters for the first time. These leaves separated from each other their entire lives now flowing together forming a warm covering for the earth.
As more of more of her energy flows in her roots she returns home, to this soil that nurtured her from an acorn to a sapling. A welcomed respite from the reaching, she allowed herself to be fed, kept warm and held by the ground of her being.