I have always been a fanatic about the fall leaves. In high school, I drew them constantly. There's something about their intricate shapes, blazing bright color, and delicate symmetry that begs me to inspect them, to keep collecting them, and tuck them away.
9 years ago I was working up in Provo Canyon's Aspen Grove doing a retreat with 6th graders. I was the camp cook and so I was free to roam the canyon between meals. I would wake up at 5:30 in the morning and hike down the trail under a brilliant dusting of stars. Sirius, my favorite, was always bright in the morning Autumn Sky. After flipping what seemed to be billions of pancakes I would head out for a run up to Stewart Falls and hustle back to start cooking lunch. It was the perfect job for me.
I can still remember the day of the attacks on the twin towers. Who doesn't remember where they were and what they were doing? We deliberated for some time whether to go forward with the retreat and after discussing it for a while we decided to proceed with it after all. The mood was solemn. After lunch that afternoon, I found a spot of sunshine under a tree. The air was golden; compliments of this time of year and I remember the quiet. Everything seemed to be so still. There I sat writing a letter to a friend who was serving in the Navy. Afterwards I hiked around and gathered some leaves. Something to remember the day by. And I laminated them so I would preserve and remember the color of that day.
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