Sometimes I envy the leaves. Getting to start over every year. Awoken by the warm winds of the spring, whistling past the budded branches of the tree it will call home. Growing into the dewy summer mornings, where the sweltering heat dries its surface, until the beauty of "golden hour" beckons in the cool relief of nightfall. On rainy days a wonderfully chaotic symphony ensues. The pitter-pattering of the drops on the leaves, as each fills until spilling from the weight. A collaboration of oaks, maples, cedars, birches all contributing their own unique voice. The winds a conductor unleashing his masterpiece for all to hear. Finally the fall comes and begins a truly beautiful transformation that ironically signals the end of life. They cling on with all their might, colors morphing with each passing day, forming a technicolored dream like landscape in the sky. Then cold winds try to force winter upon us and holding on becomes futile. Eventually they fail, their descent graceful and beautiful, like a feather in the wind. They land softly in the place they will rest until the snows blanket the ground and winter takes hold. Only to wait for those warm spring breezes to revive them once again and start all over. Now all leaves may seem similar but pick one up and examine it. Each one tells a story; Scars from storms. A roadmap of veins that reveal changes in direction, in spirit, in health. The strength of its stem, the roughness around its edges. A unique story of three seasons of life, one of rest, and a fresh start. Sometimes I envy the leaves, not always, but sometimes. "The more things change, the more they stay the same"