I photograph a lot of leaves.  Today I have decided I will one day write an essay about these things.  I may reference the sensuous as an ode to Georgia O’Keeffe.

Or I may give a nod to Walt Whitman who described a leaf (or at least a leaf of grass) as the journey work of stars.

I can write of spidery patterns and blood-filled veins.

Of jagged ridges and rolling hills.

Of silhouettes in blue and green.

Of people protected and hidden half-seen.

Of autumn’s first leaves submerged and later frozen …

… and then go on to describe the new growth that emerges each spring.

And what sparked this thought of writing about leaves? A note from my brother who wrote, until he paused in his day and sat outside with his 2-year old son, he never really noticed the simple beauty of leaves blowing in the breeze.