Confetti of Leaves

Like most days, my birthday began like any other week day. Alarm clock echoes NPR. Up, shower, shave, eat, and walk with my son to school. We always talk along the way. I prefer the days when we walk instead of the cold days or "late" days when we are forced into a quick, buckled car ride to school. In-out-in and off again. But the walks, these walks are windows to the soul of my son and often illuminate the world beyond. The Abilene wind was blowing in bursts. We walked under a tree and a gust loosened hundreds of amber yellow leaves descending to life separated from the tree. Leaves embraced us like a New York street parade of confetti. I turned down to Nathan, whose hand I would soon let go to float into his classroom, "It is confetti from God, Nathan." He looked back up and said, "God must have known it was your birthday." After a hug, we released each other to our days apart. Just another day, one more day removed from our birth - another day vibrant in the parade of life.