The Image of Leaves
“The ground parched and cracked is
Like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is,
Bent up and dead.
The fallow field glitter
Like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter,
Flung from weed unto weed.” – Autumn, News of the Universe, pg. 57.
This is an essay about an opportunity that I had a few years ago that allowed me to visit a place in Chicago that stretched out into Lake Michigan. It is a tiny peninsula that is covered by trees, bushes and shrubs. It sits beyond the Chicago shoreline isolated by the rocks that surrounds it. I am going to first describe my initial and most memorable experience there and then follow it with my last.
The dawning light erupted breaking up the congregation of stars and the blanket of darkness that lied sprawled out like a veil in the night. The vague glimpse of the rippling reflection of the morning sun christened the silver surface of the lake. The wind danced lightly with the tree branches and at once the moment was transformed by the glowing horizon. The awakening of life triggered by the rising sun in the nearing distance spoke to the soul. The air was beginning to warm up as the sound of the waves began to pound more ferociously against the rocks that grounded me. The sky slowly became lit up as if it were a canvas and the cackling of sea gulls intensified with each stroke by its artist. The warmth of the summer breeze was exalting. The clouds turned into a dazzling golden arch with red and purple highlights that offset a burning orange similar to a late autumn leaf or the cinder of burning coal. I stood encompassed by the earth and her caregiver, on a bed of rocks that protruded out of the lake that were the only barrier between the grass behind me and water in front of me; the outer garments of the land.
Behind me and the rocks stood my salvation, a piece of land that protruded out from the rest of the world like an anomaly or better yet still, a bump on the skin. A modest piece of land that was only big enough for one man’s imagination and the rest of the world. Any more than that could have been disastrous for both parties. The land would not have wanted it any other way. I felt my body inhaling the crispness of the air and the volumes of water lifted into my nostrils with each breath reminding me of how enormous the lake was if my eyes had forgotten, or in case my ears were damaged and I couldn’t here the beating waves engaged in its shoving match with the land. For a second, I felt one with the water and the humming wind, as well as the burning sun and the morning sky. Something compelled me to take a step forward as if I could walk onto the water as if it were a solid surface, though reason told me else wise, I still believe else wise. For a moment, that tiny second in time, everything felt truly pristine.
My worries of tomorrow began to subside with each awakening moment of the new day. It seemed as if its mysteries were revealed to me between the dusk and dawn during my anticipation; the truth alas realized. I was baptized in complete tranquility as nature’s nectar engulfed my being and lifted it up into a higher echelon that conjoined me to it and it to me as if a marriage had occurred that I did not know had existed. In that moment I had become committed to this place and I then realized that it too was also committed to me. And all the questions I thought I had and never knew existed had been answered. A deeper meaning of life had been realized outside of the boundaries of the city walls. This place had become a room and the room was like a library with books of many colors, various content and they all beckoned me to read beyond their covers and lines.
The population of trees became alive as they began to sway in the glory of the dawning sun and the whispering wind as if tickled by the composition of their rhyme. Their fine dark green was vibrant and healthy. Squirrels scampered about the small cluster of woods wrestling with one another playfully in a methodical fashion. There lives resembled their actions; childlike, innocent, curious and questioning.
I sat upon the rock until I saw the eastern sun turn upwards on its daily journey and stood at the glory and height of its meridian. Just like a choir is attentive to its director so were the trees and the waves, and the lilies that were behind me, and the wild flowers that grew in their patches in the dirt to the great light chiming the time with its own eyes from up yonder. And as I starred upward, I began to contemplate where I had been if not here or this place. What more could have been that important that I had not realized this place before? Then I wondered how many souls had discovered the existence of this tiny peninsula of land. I had become an explorer and this place and all its wonders I claimed selfishly as my own. It existed uninterrupted by the rest of the world or at least for my stay in its precincts. And as so far as I can recall, it felt like home.
Days had turned into nights, nights into weeks, weeks into months until finally the trees blossomed into a fine orange and gold. I found myself distant from all things and maybe even myself. There I was at home and inundated by the somberness of the settling fall. Around me were the cries of cars screeching off at green lights and a buzzing city filled with blaring sirens, the electric hum of the television and bustling sounds of stereos pumping into the comfort of homes causing their own havoc. In my bed I lied wanting to change something. I got up and began to put on the Chicago attire so that I would be prepared for the elements I was sure that would exist outside of my bedroom doors. As I stepped outside my preparation was not disappointed.
As I strolled along side the shoreline, I felt the winds of the racing cars zip by in a frenzy trying to avoid the upcoming light change. The day was not yet fully settled as it was still early. The air was crisp and refreshing. The waves receded back and forth soothing the quails that I had developed in the confines of my room. The wind lifted my spirits and I felt myself again being swept away into another dimension almost and my mind started to become clear.
The sky was a mellow grey. I could hear the familiar sound of sea gulls in the distance. With every step I took approaching the land that I had so long ago claimed for myself, I wondered how much had the world changed. Were the trees going to be in the same location? Living in the city had me guessing all of the time; I felt that this place was no different. It was susceptible to the same changes and the misfortune of progress and development. I walked under a long tunnel that led to a bike trail. Beyond that trail was a walking path that led to my salvation. As I walked along the trail, I could hear the crumbling of dead leaves that had managed to land beneath my feet. The trees stood tall and still in possession of its royal garments; a beauty in and of itself. I progressed further down the trail until I saw an opening that radiated light and an explosion of sound. Here the intensity of the moment came to a climax unparallel. Just beyond my feet were the very rocks that I had called home some months ago. And beyond those rocks was an unending swell of water that was Lake Michigan. It stretched out as far as the eye could see and its power was amazing. Here my place of rectitude and salvation remained uninterrupted by time and forward progress. The leaves had their own aura that exuberated energy and time. The wind carried the waves against the rocks and with it the fallen leaves from the trees that were nearby. A peace had come into me. Again I was a fan of a show that was much more than I could imagine in the boundaries of my room and house. This was a far greater joy; it was being alive.
There was such a contrast between the seams of the city and this woodland paradise that I had claimed for myself. It was discovered in chance, while the city was discovered by force. The sounds of televisions that couldn’t be silenced, stereo systems that had to be heard and blaring sirens that was unforgiving to the ear and almost cliché. Yet the tiny peninsula I stood upon, it was vibrant and alive in its own way, like the earth itself producing life. And the more I contemplated it; it had its own sirens. And as I went further with this thinking, it had its own television. And yet further still, there was again its own sounds. The difference was the television was the perception of the swaying trees and the motion of the sea gulls and squirrels. The sirens of waves were blaring uninterrupted since I had left and come back so many months later. It was always there in fact. The wrestling leaves and breaking sounds that they committed as foraging animals surveyed the landscape further cemented that thinking. A circle that was so tightly knitted the difference was undistinguishable. The exception was image the leaves had on me. Because in the growth of those leaves, flowers and bushes I nurtured their contentment and survival as they had nurtured my own. I mimicked them in a sense by identifying with their need to grow. I justified their existence with mine and I then realized I could not do the same with T.V., sound systems, blaring sirens or any other manmade item that I had observed and heard. And in the full glory of fall, I felt settled and complete with the anticipation of the upcoming season in my life and in theirs. The waves again calmed me and soothed my soul. It was nature at its best, and my observing it and living within it helped me at mine.
There I was again, exactly as I was at the beginning taking in something from nature that I couldn’t get any place else. It was satisfying. I starred into the swelling water and I almost felt submerged. The wind lifted the particles across my face and it was refreshing. I spent such a long time away from where I wanted to be. And in a second, a moment, an instant I was transformed into a joyful spectator of a show grander than any other displayed in any arena. Simply, this was a sport that had been played longer than any other had existed. And no matter the season, you could enjoy this show all year long.
