The Maple Leaf in the River

Recently, I sat beside a river in the Blue Ridge Mountains contemplating a time many autumns ago when the first people inhabited that fair land.  As I sat, visions of a few Braves moving through the country came to me.  One stopped to drink from a calm eddy by the bank across the river at the bottom of the steep slope studded with trees falling into color.

As the Brave slipped back into the underbrush, an urge welled up inside me to stand by the river for a few moments and observe.  I noticed several colorful leaves making their way downstream in the clear, clean water flowing past.  One leaf, a large maple, tumbled slowly in the swift current.  It was as if the leaf was cartwheeling across the river bottom.

It has since occurred to me:  what would it be like if we gracefully cartwheeled in the swift current of our lives?