There's a huge, spreading sycamore tree on the route I usually walk to work. The trunks rise high into the sky and spread branches out that extend completely over the street. By now, most trees are bare of leaves. There are some oak trees that hold onto their leaves longer, but until today, I'd never noticed that the sycamores do too.
The air this morning was crisp, the sky blue. A very pleasant late autumn morning, with a slight breeze. As I walked up the street, I heard a sound - not quite rustling, not quite tinkling. The blend of hundreds of distinct vibrations, blending into a chorus coming from above. I looked up, and could see the leaves, brown against the blue sky, moving back and forth in the breeze, each a little instrument making its morning music.
I stopped and listened for a while. At that moment, it seemed as beautiful and interesting as any music I could imagine. I marveled at the thought that this huge, old tree, standing tall year after year, spreading shade in summer, was also a unique musical instrument, waiting for the fall breeze to bring it to life.
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