THE BUTTER LEAVES OF LETCHWORTH

The leaves on the great Maple trees were so yellow, they looked like sticks of butter.

Yellow and bright, they were everywhere I looked, behind me and before me, for miles and miles and miles, interspersed between the Birch and Pine trees.

I was standing at the bottom of the gorge with Riley's Dad, a much travelled trail of many before us, and most likely many to follow. Boundless untamed waterfalls behind us and the sun shining brightly above us, it was an October Indian Summer the likes of which we had never seen before, and would be very blessed indeed should we ever seen them again. My face would be sunburned before the day was over.

In the spring the Maple leaves were green like all the others, blending in with the landscape and not very special looking at first glance, wallflowers at the dance of the more popular Ash and Black Walnut. Come the end of summer, however, they began their transformation from plain green to brilliant red. You could tell this was the beginning of something special, as if the other trees themselves stood back to watch the emergence of pure beauty, somewhat envious and inimidated at the same time.
Perhaps the greatest surprise to them all, though, was the ultimate blast of pigmentation, the final burst of yellow.The ugly duckling was truly the belle of the ball.

The trails we walked were winding and turning, up and down, over many miles of buried tree roots and smooth rock formations. The moss was overgrown on the north side of the bolders, and the rock slates beckoned for us to sit and visit for a while, to chat some more and learn the innermost secrets of our souls.

I had many prayers of thanks that day. Thankful to live in a country where the park was a gift of love donation from a wealthy man, a present to the community after his death. Thankful to be able to walk the many slate steps down to the gorge under my own power and unassisted. To be able to breathe deep the smells of the wildflowers and to see the colorful foliage surrounding me at every turn. Most of all, to be holding the hand of the one who brought me here, to share in his joy as if he too, saw all of this for the very first time. My heart was full, and my eyes glistened at the sheer joy of being where I was at that very moment. He felt it too, and he held me close as someone took our picture.

A perfect day and in was only 10am in the morning. How I wished my children could have shared in the moment with me, but mindful that this sight was meant for just me and him.

I will hold in my soul always the surprise vision greeting me that morning as I turned to face my smiling companion to ask him why his face with so bright and peaceful.

They will forever be the Butter Leaves of Letchworth, the announcement of Fall to me, a wonderful reminder of the fullness of life, the reward for surviving a Winter bleak and dark, and holding fast to the promise of beauty yet to come. My faith was rewarded and I was alive to receive a blessing. I will never again take anything for granted, for each day is a gift, each person a present from above.