The Great Painter

Ever since I can remember, every fall I have heard the story of the Great Painter. Every fall, the leaves slowly change from their chlorophyll full green to their real shade of yellow, red, orange, and tan. The Great Painter paints each leaf; each is its own work of art – unique and special. If the leaves stayed green, we would miss the colors of fall.

Life changes too, colors of transformation. I think about ten years ago, 5 years ago, or yesterday. Each day is unique; each is its own piece of art. I can think of some days that are kind of orange, filled with warmth. They remind me of days with fire rings, low bonfires with potatoes roasting in the coals, a pile of marshmallows ready to be licked by flames and caramelized.

The yellow leaves, sunny in color are some of my favorites. Like bits of sunshine caught all the way into the cell walls of the leaf, they hold color of sweet Indian summer days, holding bits of tantalizing warmth. I’ve had some yellow leaf days, days that are full of brightness, laughter, and friendship.

Caught on misty wet sidewalks, the tan leaves stick to the concrete. They are the misty, rainy days that declare it is necessary to grab a soft blanket and go back to bed. Candle light, a fire in the stove, sweatshirts, and warm soup are all needed on the tan days. Tan days are the blah, ho-hum days. There may be some tears, there may be some wishing for different colors. These are also the days to be thankful for the other colors.

As the Great Painter paints the leaves, and the days – I’m hoping for lots of orange and yellow days, but know that there will be some tan days as well. After all, how could they orange and yellow be as sweet without them?