It was a crisp autumn day with a crystal clear blue sky. The sun was bright enough to hurt your eyes if you looked anywhere in its general direction. If the whole impression could be caught in a picture, that picture would be the best possible definition of “Indian summer” that anyone could hope to muster.
Our path skirted the edge of a deciduous wood. A variety of trees abounded, enveloping us in glorious shades of gold, yellow, orange, and red. A breeze blew, more than gentle, but less than stiff. It provided just enough chill to counteract the warm sunshine, making the day perfect for my favorite wardrobe combination, shorts and a sweatshirt.
As we walked, leaves blew from the trees with regularity. Whenever they came close enough, I reached out in an attempt to grasp them, but they remained elusive. I failed to grab a single one.
I said to my friend, “These leaves represent my search for spiritual knowledge. So often I seem so close to grasping what it is I seek to learn, but at the last moment, it eludes me, leaving me just out of touch with the certainty I so desperately desire.”
He replied, “Today is the first day you have ever walked this path and tried to catch a falling leaf from one of these trees. Keep trying, and as you gain experience, you will begin to succeed in grasping them. The more experience you gain, the more leaves you will catch.”
Then he pointed out the many leaves that lay on the forest floor that had fallen from trees well away from the particular path we were walking and said, “But try as you might, you will only ever catch a fraction of the leaves that fall. No one could ever catch them all.”
As he finished speaking, he caught a single golden leaf floating in his direction. A mischievous smile even brighter than the autumn sun illuminated his face as he handed it to me.