This allows plants to bend naturally toward sunlight like a monk bowing before an altar.īy listening to our deeper instincts, we can follow the leaf’s example more consistently and effortlessly - bending toward the light, being drawn to things that nourish us. Through the process of phototropism, the cells on the shady side of leaves and stems grow faster, triggering a deliberate asymmetrical growth. So that’s where they orient themselves: toward sunlight. They require energy from sunlight in order to produce food. We often surround ourselves with people who are negative influences, and we chase things that bring immediate gratification but are destructive to body, mind and spirit. Unfortunately, we humans easily gravitate toward things in life that are harmful to us. Imagine how much easier our lives would be if we could respond to challenges so fluidly and flexibly. In another species, the leaves swing inward and lie flat against the branch. Like a Tai Chi master, a leaf gains its advantage by yielding to force rather than resisting it.ĭid you know that leaves will actually adjust their configurations in high winds to reduce surface exposure and minimize potential damage? In some trees, the leaves curl into a tightening cone to minimize wind drag. When strong winds whip the tree, leaves hang on by going with the flow. This is why everyone and everything we encounter deserves compassion.Īlthough leaves are relatively fragile and are easily bent or torn, their flexibility helps them endure. If we look clearly, we see that everyone and everything around us - yes, even a leaf on a tree - suffers in some way. When I reflect on this, I gain a deeper appreciation for what Buddhists call The First Noble Truth: Suffering is an intrinsic part of life. The technical term for this phenomenon, I’ve learned, is “leaf scorch.” It occurs when leaves are traumatized by lack of water, overexposure to hot sun or other harsh conditions. The few colorful leaves I managed to find needed to be taken home and photographed almost immediately, before they too wilted and darkened. But in the fall of 2020, when I was looking for new leaves to photograph, I saw a depressing collection of shriveled brown and black leaves that had dropped early or were barely clinging to life on the tree. As if they were sharing our collective pain, the leaves where I live in Charlotte, NC had a dismal year in 2020.īack in 2019, when I was collecting leaves for the original I Am a Leaf photographs, the trees were covered with dazzling fall foliage. If you live in a different climate zone, you may have a different experience - and your leaves may inspire additional insights for you.)Īnyone who lived through the pandemic and chaos of the past year knows what stress feels like. (Please note: I was observing the leaves of deciduous trees in a temperate climate. Here are seven things I’m grateful for having observed.
And in the spirit of this deeper exploration, I used a macro lens on my camera to reveal a closer look at the wondrous structure of leaves.
Over the past year, I jotted down thoughts in a vintage leather-covered notebook that I keep on my desk. Since then, I’ve been thinking more deeply about leaves - what these simple gifts of nature can teach us, and how they can help us overcome the challenges we face in life. In it, I shared personal reflections and “leaf portrait” photographs that were inspired by the receipt of potentially life-threatening health news. One year ago, I wrote a piece titled I Am a Leaf that appeared on this website.
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