Seasons Of Becoming
There’s a tree in a neighbours garden that I can see from the bathroom window. I’m not sure what kind of tree, it doesn’t really matter, but the last eight weeks I’ve been watching it turn on its annual fashion show, turning it’s leaves from a vivid green, to a turmeric yellow, an ember orange, and finally a fire engine red so showy it looks like the tree is on fire, and then the final act of letting go one by one.
No timeline to stick to or a schedule, just one morning there are leaves at all different stages of the pallet and then one morning it feels like they’ve all conspired to descend together, a group choice to leave their perch on the branches and gracefully twist their way to the ground. Sometimes in a sad, soggy, drain-clogging bunch, others in a satisfyingly crisp, crunchy heap that’s begging for someone to come and have a quick kick around.
The last leaves seem to be the unflappable Sergeants, not leaving any ‘man’ behind in their duty of welcoming in winter. They hang on by a thread, and when you’re absolutely sure that the passing storm or the lorry driving past at a pace will surely blow them off, still they stand, resilient and proud.
I like to think that they wait until a perfect sunrise comes to take one last look around, say to themselves ‘It was a good season. A lot happened. They stayed home more. They were more grateful. They got creative. They learned what it was to live at a different pace. They had to have the conversations they were avoiding. They had to sit in the discomfort to finally see the subtle, slow magic. They had to make meaning of the breakdown. They cried; tears of joy, frustration, despair, love, fear, letting go of the before to tentatively, but sometimes expectantly, open their hearts to the after. We did our job well, we watched, we performed our duty, we were exactly who we were, we showed them how it was done - whether they realised it or not. Not long until spring and they’ll look up and see that just because we weren’t here didn’t mean that we weren’t still living in the unseen beyond.” And finally joining the rest of its platoon on earth. Compost for a more fertile future.
The branches are bare now. And every morning I look at that tree like an old friend that has held me in silence and brought me home. I will wait patiently for the budding blossoms. What whispers of hope it will bring. What treasures will bloom.
Jo Lippold
After studying drama and performance art, Jo Lippold found herself back in her home town of London where she embarked on a six year stint agency side in PR, coming up with creative campaign concepts and then collecting, connecting, and sharing the dots as stories. Since moving to Melbourne, Australia in 2012 she has managed restaurants, become a certified life coach, volunteered at festivals of ideas, events on kindness and compassion revolutions, completed her yoga teacher training, and was the communications manager at Loving Earth for four years. She’s now working on her first online programme bringing to life all that she has learned about consciousness, communication and courage, integrating all these practices to help move people through life’s crossroads. She believes everyone is creative and has a story to not only tell but own. Everything she does she tries to inject a healthy amount of warmth, humour and, tender truth. You can find more about Jo at www.jolippold.com.