The Weight of Gravity

Everything that rises must eventually find its way back to the earth. We spend our youth looking upward, tracing the flight of birds or the slow drift of clouds, convinced that the sky is a destination. We forget that the ground is patient. It waits for the leaves to turn, for the color to drain, for the inevitable release. There is a specific silence that precedes the fall. It is not a sound, but a pressure in the air, a thickening of the atmosphere that tells you the season has reached its limit. We call it change, but it is really just a surrender. To let go is not a failure; it is the only way to make room for what comes after the frost. When the branches are finally bare, do they feel lighter, or do they simply miss the burden of holding on? What remains when the color is gone?

James L. Brown has captured this quiet surrender in his work titled The Sky is Falling. It reminds me that even the most vibrant things are only passing through. Does the earth feel the weight of what it catches?