It has been a long time since I have written anything. It is time to gather in all of my observations and pick through them, weeding out the none essentials and cutting closer to the core of my own personal curiosity. I am and always have been curious about everything.

I have spent time staring out my front window studying my medium sized oak tree that sits close to the road. Not a spot I would have picked but it must have looked very good a a gray, black or red squirrel. This oak was a volunteer. It was either planted and stored for future use or dropped by accident. I have reaped the benefit from this random or purposeful act as I sip my coffee and watch it grow.

For a long time I was much taller and could have yanked it out when it had a few spindly branches and just as few leaves. My way is to let things be. Let them turn out to be whatever they need to be.

I have watched the leaves fall. I have watched the leaves on this tree dance in the frigid wind. I have been amazed to see a few of them still clinging to the tree storm after storm after storm. I think that I could count them now very easily. But counting would not answer my question. Why are they still there?

Are they afraid of falling? Are they afraid that all too soon they will become part of the mud, the dirt under the tree? Are they afraid that they and the tree will cease to exist if they give themselves over to natures forces and either drift or plunge to the ground amid icy gales?

Or... do they cling as a sign of hope? Are they the last memory for the tree of pale green spring, emerald summer, and rust and brown colored autumn? Are they there for us so that we hang in there waiting for the days to grow long and the sun to shine once again extending our days into warm summer nights?

Yes, I wonder as I raise my cup of coffee to the leaves and salute them. It does not really matter why they cling... for me it is enough to know that they do.