It’s like one of my favorite (non-Orthodox) books says: Any small thing can save you. But sometimes it takes a whole bunch of them. Any you have to pay attention.

We don’t have the thrill of October still before us. We had a hard rain and a blustery day, and most of the brilliantly colored leaves are off the trees. But the days are still crisp rather than chilly, and the light and air have that feel that you only get at this time of year.

So I decided to walk to my errand at the pharmacy rather than take the car. And it worked for a while. I stopped thinking of the mountain of work that I’ve done and the other mountain of work that I still have to do.

But then those thoughts came intruding back in. I found I was walking faster, head down, eyes on the pavement. What about that email I sent? What will I say in that phone conversation? Should I follow up on this? I better figure out that other thing!

I was interrupted by a scratchy cacophony behind me. Looking back at the street I had just crossed, I saw a little Nascar race of leaves coming along the road, caught up by one of those very isolated pockets of wind that reached them between the houses and trees. It had set them all in motion at the same time, and they twirled and bumped along at a mighty pace as if each was trying to get to the finish line first.

“What finish line?” I thought. They’re dead leaves. What’s the hurry? A month ago, they were vital and busy; now they’re dead and busy. A month from now they’ll be gone and no one will quite know where they went. So what’s the rush?

And that seemed like it was worth reflecting on. And so I managed to slowwww down a little and take my eyes off the pavement.

As the old hymn says:
This is my Father’s world,
The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white,
Declare their maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world:
He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.