How many have you seen this fall as you walk with your head down, watching your feet?
People are always commenting on how I walk with my head down, wondering if it’s because I’m depressed or something.
No, it’s a very old habit born of extreme nearsightedness and clumsiness. It’s a safety issue. (I have lots of safety issues, don’t you?)
It’s not that I’ve missed seeing the actual real leaves on the trees or in the yards. I haven’t–especially not in my own yard where we have thirteen mature trees. So far I’ve managed to get three piles of leaves to the street for the township leaf-vacuuming machine. Three piles three feet high by five feet across by fifty feet long. So, yeah, I’m seeing the beautiful leaves in all their glory.
But this sight, of maple leaf stains on concrete, made me stop. The leaves are gone, blown away by November winds. Left behind are the perfect impressions. Tannic acid leached into concrete.
Jesus is here, and yet gone. Left behind is his very essence, acid-etched into the hard surface of our hearts, changing us into an image of him for the world to see–or not–to stop and notice with awe and wonder–or trample underfoot.