Gravity

It’s the perfect Saturday morning. I have a hot pot of coffee by my side, a book in my hand, and I’m sitting on my deck, the steamy August air ripe with the anticipation of Fall.

Thunk. Thud. Thwack.

Amidst the sounds of cars in the distance and birds squawking above the pasture, there are heavy, hefty plops behind me.

The corner of the deck best for reading is sheltered by a scrappy old pear tree. Scraggly and lopsided, it shades the corner from sun and provides a cozy sense of privacy. The spring brings blossoms and fragrance, the summer bearing old branches heavy with fruit, feeding birds, squirrels and bees.

And as autumn approaches, unable to hold the weight of this year’s growth any more, the old tree drops the pears, one after another.

Thunk. Thud. Thwack.

Today seems to be a day of major releasing for the old girl. One at a time, the pears crackle loose, rustle through the leaves, and topple to the ground below. I watch, probably longer than such an event warrants. And I marvel.

Nature never ceases to inspire and teach me, always a lesson unfolding to those who slow enough to learn.

Today, I ponder the act of letting go. Nature knows so fully that letting go, releasing, yielding, is both freeing and necessary for future growth. I think about how transformative it would be if I, too, could easily and intuitively sense when something (a task, a relationship, a grudge, a worry) had reached it’s fullness and would benefit from release.

I watch as the old tree seemingly “knows” that the weight is now too much to carry, and in order to preserve order, strength and room for fresh growth, release is the only way.

I think about the things that I am carrying, many way past their prime and ready to be released, and yet I cling. And not only do I hold on to these, I gather more.

Hurts. Resentments. Grudges. Sorrows. Ideas and emotions no longer bearing fruit.

I close my eyes, listening to the plopping of pears, imagining the tree sensing relief with the release of each one too heavy to carry any more. I visualize my self dropping away worries, one by one, feeling liberation and spaciousness as each one breaks away and falls. I scan my mind, searching for the things that need to go, that have reached ripeness and are only doomed to rot if hung on to any longer.

One by one, I drop them. One by one, they thunk, just like the pears.

Release.

Relief.

Lighter, crisper, freer I feel. One by one I let go…. thunk, thud, thwack.

Gravity can be a beautiful thing.