- Ruth Farmer
This is Joy
A moment of Joy, seeing the golden leaves in the trees circling my home. Every fall, I worry so much about winter that the beautiful fall foliage makes no impression on me. Those golden leaves are just a prelude to the miserably short days, the cold claustrophobia of winter and, since I moved to Addison County, frequent power outages.
But that moment, walking up to my house from checking my mail, I noticed the trees’ spectacle. They were definitely showing off. In the gloom of a rainy afternoon, they were shining and swaying and dancing with the wind. Their shades of gold were flirtatious and even daring.
Like most humans with a cell phone, I took pictures. I’ve not looked at them because I don’t really expect the photos to capture the trees’ emotional tenor or my camaraderie with them. A photo can’t express the joy I felt while standing with the rain sprinkling my face, the wind rustling the leaves, and the trees smiling golden in the afternoon gloom.
This is Joy.
I suppose that joy is so remarkable and welcome because it is so fleeting. You can’t hold onto joy. You can experience it and remember it (as I do now). You can try to explain it in a journal entry or a photograph or a dance or a sound.
My body is tingling, my blood singing, my brain is filled with the memory of the gold, my mind with the sound of the tees and the feel of the cold and wet.
“Pause and feel Joy.” Something told me to pause and I felt Joy. Something told me to fill my eyes with the trees. I did and I am so grateful.
My heart is full as I remember that Joyful moment.