Extraordinary

This might come as a shock to you, but I don't always mind my business when it comes to you and your peers. Recently, a young man bolted in my direction. As he got closer, I noticed he was harnessed with handles fixed to his chest and back. I used his proximity to snatch him into a hug and held him tightly as if my life depended on it, as if his life depended on it.

Butter never melted quite like he did into my tight embrace.

Compression.

"He needs compression," I told his father. "If you haven't already, you should try putting him in a compression vest."

A week later, I saw the same young man, free from harnesses and handles, walking alongside his father. Dad lifted his chin to me in acknowledgement and said, "You were right."

As if on cue, the young man shuffled closer and pushed something towards my left hand while his eyes remained adverted to the right. His motion said what his mouth couldn't. "This is for you."

His dad filled the silence. "He thinks leaves are rare."

I pincer grasped around his gift. As I held it to my line of vision, I twirled the delicate oak leaf that had reached the end of its life cycle, and I looked up at barren branches.

"Well," I said with a pause until the lump cleared from my throat. "I suppose leaves are rare this time of year," as I gestured towards the empty tree line. I then took notice to how easily I could have demolished the fragile leaf. Somehow it had managed to escape the blow of stomping feet and the decay of a heavy rain. It wasn't collected in a yard bag or trapped in a gutter. It held its shape perfectly. It was perfect, and it was mine, a gift from my new friend.

While some would've saw it as an everyday brown leaf, I marveled at it, because a slight change in perception is all it takes to rise ordinary to extraordinary. It's a lesson you've taught me well.