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The Story of A leaf - Story by ShyHawk(FM)
Before me a hill rises abruptly covered in hardwood trees. It is a mix of colors and shapes. One large maple stands in the forefront. Splashes of orange and red cover it in a collage of color. Beyond the hill rises the mountain. She is now covered in gold's, yellows, oranges, and reds. Near the crest one tree of crimson stands alone among the gold's and browns!
At my side is a firebush, four feet high and just as round. Its brilliant reds are at their peak! The bush almost seems to burn with color. Its beauty is highlighted by bushes of equal size framing it in a shower of golden color.
As I give thanks to Creator, my two friends sit across from me on the hill. I hear them greet me with their morning caws. My heart is always lifted upon their return! They emerge from the small wooded hill and perch on the limbs of a near bare walnut tree. Their large black silhouettes can be seen easily on the coarse brown limbs backed by a hill of color!
As I finish my prayers and gaze in wonder on this scene unfolding before me, my mind is drawn to a warmer time. An elder s face can be seen in my memories. She is a friend I have grown to admire and love over the years. I hear here voice speak a request that I was unable to fulfill. She asked me to
write a story about a leaf. At the time I thought it odd, yet now the meaning unfolds before me. Thank you Grandmother.
The story begins on a fall morning. The sun has already risen high in the sky. The morning frost is now gone and the rays of the sun warm my body. I am troubled and head to the river for healing. As I approach on a small dirt path colorful leaves abound. The smell of damp leaves lying on the earthen
forest floor abounds. One of the sweetest smells I know. My heart begins to stir again. The hardness caused by everyday struggles begins to melt from my heart.
The path appears smaller today. It is choked by a carpet of freshly fallen leaves. The carpet is soft and dotted with gold's, browns, reds, yellows, and orange. I remember as a boy playing in them! The noise of my feet stirring these crisp and crunchy beauties is music to my ears. Fall is a time of relief from the heat and humidity of summer. A slower time I welcome
with great joy!
The river unfolds before me over a small rise. The Schully runs full this year. Prayers are offered. The memories of the last decade are still fresh in my mind -- the worst drought of the century.
As far as I can see up and down the rivers course, the banks are choked tight with trees and brush. I slowly make my way down the embankment -- ten feet high consisting of varying sizes of brown aggregate and gray granite rocks. The average size is about one foot in diameter. They have only rounded edges now. The edges have been worn smooth by flood waters over many many
years. Each stone cracked and rough in appearance. Each maintains its own identity inspite of the current s sculpting.
The rock people greet me this day. The rocks offer a warmth and energy as my hands slide over them. The last few feet of embankment are moss covered. Soft and cool reaching right into the water. I am on the eastern shore. The sun is behind me still and the forest shades me. Yet, soft filtered rays fall
on my body through a thinning canopy of fall foliage. The gentle caress of the suns warmth is a welcome gift along the cool water.
A tree of eighteen inches in diameter grows parallel to the rivers surface -- straight out of the bank for several feet then turns sharply to the sky. The trunk makes a fine seat extending out a few feet over the water. Here I sit with my friend to enjoy these gifts of a fall day. The tree has moss on its base --a soft and welcoming seat from my onlegged friend.
As I sit in the dim light of the woods my eyes are greeted by brilliant light striking the river out from the trees grasp. The water is sparkling and clear today. The bottom can be seen as easily as looking through a pane of glass. I sit in an area of small cascades. Here the water boils with swirls of small whirlpools and white water rifts. Many large boulders break the
surface and stand high over the river. The water lines are wet and glossy making the rest of the rock appear dull in color. They show the scars of very old age. These small boulders stand proudly here surviving many natural milestones -- as I am here following the struggles of my people. It seems we share an energy and pride. We both are born of this land and here we stay!
The view up river is spectacular. The river disappears around a bend and the mountain rises behind it steeply and perpendicular to it. A small stream joins the river about a quarter mile up from my seat. It too is filled with small cascades. As one band joins another to make a large village of greater strength, so this stream joins this river to make it a greater waterway.
In my mind I can picture the many canoes that once traveled this route. I myself look for a safe passage through this turgid water. There is rumor that once more my relatives may come from the North with many canoes to visit the land to the South in a time of healing and growth. For now it is a twinkle in my eye. Yet my heart can see this great sight as if it were before me now. Here on this river named The Roaring River by the Unami People long ago.
Today it seems my ancestors will walk from the forest to join me here -- as if there is no time between us. Sadly, I am alone and they visit only in my heart today.
I hear the ravens call to me and again my thoughts return to the present. Where the river bends small rocky shores peak from the waters edge. The gray contrasts softly against the green moss covered banks. I look into the water and see leaves of all shapes, sizes, and colors floating by. I look harder and realize not all are floating. Some are suspended in the current beneath
the surface. Others fill the voids between the rocks lining the bottom of the river.
The small embankment I climbed down is also softened by small piles of leaves which are trapped in the open spaces between the rocks. The noise of the river is soothing to my troubled spirit and it begins to work its healing on me. My heart again softens and the gifts around me are now appreciated
fully. The true meaning of life is now spread before me by Creator. Simple and beautiful gifts -- all I truly need to live. Simple gifts -- are they really?
Coming from the bank and literally wrapping itself around me is a young maple. It is nearly bare of leaves now. Yet a small group of twigs at the end of a fragile limb seem to form a withered hand reaching to me. The fingers are a soft gray color. At their tips are individual maple leaves. First I only see this picture as a whole. Many small orange and red leaves dotting
the gray ends of this limb.
Now I look closer and softly hold some of these leaves in my hand. I see each leaf is an individual. Each has its own size and color pattern. The colors are a splash of orange and red -- both on each leaf. Yet each one is different.
The words of the elder echo in my ears now -- write a story of a leaf. As I hold one tiny leaf of great beauty softly in my hand, a story is told to me. Not in words for my ears to hear but in silence for my heart to understand. I gently release the limb and stare. The soft music of the river sweeps me away from this world.
I now see the leaf is similar to me. Alone the leaf or the tree would not survive. It takes many leaves working together to maintain the trees life and their own. Each year new leaves emerge to sustain the life of the tree. During this year many die or are scarred by weather or animals. In the fall
they all die. Yet the tree lives on. It seems no different then in myself and our people. The people are the tree. We are the individual leaves. We give all we can for the needs of the people and our culture. We do all we can to ensure this survival. Some will die young, some will live on injured and
scarred, others will wither and die in old age. Yet the culture lives on -- the people live on.
We are the total of our ancestors. Our hearts belong to them. So as the tree we to are nourished by our ancestors knowledge and love -- they are our leaves of past generations.
In my own life I am reminded that the colors of the leaves are there from birth. The green chlorophyl keeps the colors hidden from our eyes. In the fall the lush green and shine of each leaf begins to fade along with the length of each day. The leaves become dull. The first sign of fall even though the temperatures are still warm. Blemishes once hidden by the green
begin to appear on the leaves as dark spots. The leaves become more brittle and dry and slowly their true colors begin to emerge as the green fades.
In this short period of time the colors that were hidden for most of their lives now burst fourth and show such beauty for a short time before death turns them brown. Even in death though they are not finished. The leaves will help warm the earth over the winter. Slowly they will rot and nourish INA once again, Aho.
It is not much different then our own lives. We are here a short amount of time. Our true colors are not known to us in our youth. We spend much of our life working for the people and learning lessons. We search in our own ways and ceremonies to know ourselves spiritually and Creator.
The lessons are learned throughout our lives yet most are only understood in the fall of our lives. I used to think this was sad -- that so much time was wasted. Now I see clear, as the river before me, the significance of this. At a younger age I was not ready to accept or even understand the true depth of these lessons.
In the fall of our lives when death becomes a constant companion the frivolities of life are stripped away and the true meanings are seen clearly. I understand this well now.
As the leaf, in our youth our bodies are strong and our skin is moist and shiny. We are the workers and warriors who look to the elders for their knowledge to guide us and with our strength we protect them in return.
As the fall of our lives approaches, our skin becomes looser and the tone seems to be disappearing. Younger warriors are stronger then us now. It is a time of change. Lessons of old seem to haunt us now and our spirituality takes on a deeper meaning. One day we hear our selves giving lessons to the
young ones and passing on the stories of our ancestors. Our bodies are now weaker and the youthful glow has faded -- yet inside the true colors shine brightly.
In this fall of our lives all the lessons and spirituality show through our hearts and eyes. We are as the strong green leaves of the past that now display such great beauty and color. The colors now reflect our strength. The lessons to be passed on are the true beauty.
Fall is not a sad time. As with the leaves it is a time of rebirth, we have greater understanding of life and do not fear death. It is friend that now helps us see life clearly. On this day understanding is reached. Today my heart shines with great color, such as the leaves of my onelegged brother, AHo.
I hope these lessons reflect well on you Grandmother for here is my answer.
Kici ota yuonihan (with much respect)
Fall of 2000
Dedicated to Grandmother Doris
©ShyHawk Fm-All Rights Reserved