from Leaves (in Journeying in Place by Gunilla Norris)
“There are so many of them. Piles of them. I take pleasure in their abundance. More saints than you could ever dream of. Each one singular. Each one itself. Yellow, red, orange, parchment. They sail down in the autumn air like fearless sky divers. They are so trusting – letting go completely. Not questioning as I do…Will it be safe? Will I understand? Will it hurt?...stalling, qualifying, questioning, instead of releasing and taking to the air."
". . . After that the big sugar maple begins. It stands in perfect glory for about a week. Then one windless night I sense that it sighs deeply somewhere inside its gnarled trunk and says, “Enough.” The next day I see a waterfall of leaves. They fall, no, cascade down, rustling, pouring, to pool upon the ground like a large, golden puddle. Yellow earth-light illumines my face."
"I have felt that glow before. On her last night my mother was aglow like that. She was radiant. Neither of us knew it was her last night. Standing in the kitchen she blazed like the maple tree and I said to her, “Mother, you are so beautiful.” She smiled and nodded. “I have the glory in me,” she said. Then quietly during the night, something in her declared, “Enough,” and she shed her body. She let go. It was utterly clean. Only light remained."
"Instructions for living a life:
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"
I've taken on a prayer practice of looking for the moments of light in each day, whether actual or metaphorical, and then writing or posting photos of what I find.