Always something there to remind me.
Maple leaves falling in Autumn always bring echoes from another life for me. A life that was cut short with no warning.
But I survived and came home to England with two beautiful little reminders of the life I'd had in their father's country. There have been 31 Autumns since I returned and my sons have grown into fine, strong men with babies of their own. Canada is nothing more than a bitter sweet memory because I never went back.
But there is a third souvenir from my old life. When my parents came to see me in 1978, I lived on the leafy Rusholme Road in Toronto. One day my father picked up a 'helicopter' that had spun down from one of the beautiful Sugar Maples on my street.
He put it in his jacket pocket and forgot about it.
Then, months later, back at home, he found it there in his pocket. He dropped it on the lawn in front of the house in England.
When my life ended in Canada, I came back to pick up the pieces of my old life. The little Maple tree was a sapling on my parents' lawn. It was nothing much to look at in 1983.
But as the boys grew, so did the tree. It is now a towering, beautiful reminder of another time and another place. The memories make me smile... most of the time.
Every year the tree stands tall in Autumn and simply lets go of what was. Something maybe we could all learn from. The leaves drift down covering the front garden and most of the street with beautiful Maple leaves.
Every year, I watch the carpet grow; some days, the leaves have beautiful droplets of dew on them. Every year I always say I will take a picture of one but I never do.This year I did.
As I focused my lens on the dew drops, my vision became misty. I remembered the Canadian fall. Being up at the lake.Tramping through the leaves.
Closing the family cottage for winter before the snow made access difficult. Sitting on the verandah sipping coffee for one last time with our coats pulled tightly around us listening to the sound of Loons calling on the lake.
The Maple leaves laying on the lawn hold so much meaning . They trigger many buried memories..
It has all been gone for such a long time. All except the tree. The tree that started as a tiny seed on Rusholme Road is survivor from the same past as me.
We have so much in common. I am so grateful that my father picked it up and let it take root.
If you enjoyed this post from October 2015, you can read other posts about Autumn on Terri Webster-Schrandt's website, Second Wind Leisure Perspectives and, if you have any Autumn stories or pictures yourself, you can join the linky-party.