In our yard one tree, autumn weary, dumps armloads of dead leaves onto our car windshield and carport. Its cousin, confident of spring, sprouts hearty buds from every branch. These trees trouble me with questions about letting go and about taking risks, wonderings about the stark beauty of grief and the fresh beauty of birth. This season (whatever the trees may think it to be!) I hope to attend with all my senses to the questions nature asks of me.

What do you find when you open the “book of nature?” Share your thoughts with us.