If a Leaf Falls

“If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?”

The response to that age-old question reveals more about the ponderer’s powers of observation and intuitive thought than it does any real contemplation of some heretofore unknown and mysterious law of nature.

I have always been one to argue yes. I have never embraced the  quantum event school of thought that posits the mere presence or absence of someone can affect the outcome of what most people consider truly random events and coincidences. Half a million people at the original Woodstock chanted “no rain, no rain, no rain” in unison and with feeling and together shared a good soaking. I rest my case.

That is not to say that I do not believe there are sometimes signals waiting to be read in what some may see only as common everyday occurrences. That is something altogether different. And again, it is often the way that people react to and interpret those signs, more than the medium, that holds the real message. One man’s superstitious fear is often another’s epiphany. Coincidences, when viewed over time do form patterns readily apparent to those perceptive enough to see — showing in those cases that they were anything but true random rolls of fate’s dice to begin with.

But enough about falling trees. What about falling leaves? It is, after all, that time of year.

On a backpacking trip to northern Baxter State Park last week the woods were in full autumn splendor. With each passing breeze another squadron of brilliant airfoils took flight for the all-too-brief descent and their inevitable consignment to detritus duty.

For two days a friend and I hiked through mile after mile of vivid yellow mountain maple trees. You literally could not see the forest for the leaves. Our eyes grew weary from the monocolor landscape. The ground, too, was covered in yellow, punctuated only here and there by the occasional splash of red maple or the distinctive points of the poplar’s sculpted castoffs.

On Sunday, while descending from a scramble to the Horse Mountain Fire Tower I mentioned to my companion that I had never followed one leaf on its entire journey although I have many times enjoyed their antics. I have been fascinated by the frantic dance of dry leaves whipped into mini tornados, or occasional showers of leaves descending like technicolor rain following strong gusts. Once or twice I’ve witnessed a single leaf’s surrender as a north wind tugged it from its branch. So, too, have I witnessed one of fall’s solitary travelers alight gently on the frosty ground after a graceful see-sawing flight on a still morning. Still, despite my familiarity with all the pieces of the picture, I admit to having never seen it in its entirety. All too often we simply pass unawares through the day, our thoughts preoccupied with weighty matters of personal or professional interest while the rhythms and essence of life beat on around us loud, steady, yet unheard.

I got laughing to myself thinking, “If leaf falls and no one is there to see it, does it hit the ground?”

Not long after, on a brief rest stop, I glanced 30 feet overhead and off to one side just in time to see a lone, large mountain maple leaf at the exact moment it cleaved from the branch. “There’s one now,” I said out loud as I stood motionless and watched its downward spiral. About 10 feet off the ground it stopped spinning and began floating gently from side to side. With a last, wide lunging swoop it headed straight for me and alighted in my outstretched hand held flush against my chest.

Silent, I held it gently in my hand for a moment as the look of surprise slowly left my face. I turned it over and then back looking for some hidden words of wisdom in the weathered veins and leathery skin. But it was just another leaf.

I thought in that second that perhaps I should keep it as some kind of talisman. Surely the odds proved this was no accident. But I realized the magic here lay in the moment, not the object.

I smiled at my companion, and without hesitation unceremoniously released that mountain maple leaf to continue the last few feet of its preordained trip to earth – its elements soon to be one again with the soil. I looked down, at a hundred thousand identical bright yellow mountain maple leaves lying at my feet, mine now, as it should be, indistinguishable from the rest.

After all, I said to myself as I turned back to the trail and continued down the mountain, it had to have been just a coincidence.