The Autumn Temple

Two monks stood before the temple as autumn gathered around them.

Leaves drifted from the ancient trees, one by one, turning slowly in the wind before settling upon the stone path.

The younger monk watched them fall.

"Master," he asked, "where do the leaves go when they leave the tree?"

The older monk smiled.

"Where did they come from?"

"From the tree."

"And where does the tree get them?"

The young monk looked up at the branches.

He had no answer.

A breeze passed between them, carrying three golden leaves across the temple steps.

The older monk closed his eyes.

"The leaf does not ask where it is going," he said. "It simply falls."

The younger monk was silent.

After a while, he asked, "Then should I stop wondering about where my life is going?"

The old monk opened his eyes.

"No."

He pointed to the leaf resting beside the young monk's sandal.

"Wonder if you wish."

Then he pointed to the temple bell hanging beneath the eaves.

"But while you wonder, listen."

The wind moved through the trees.

The bell sounded once.

Neither monk spoke.

A cloud crossed the autumn sun.

Somewhere beyond the temple, a crow called.

The young monk finally smiled.

"I understand."

The old monk shook his head.

"No, you don't."

The young monk laughed.

The old monk laughed too.

Another leaf fell.

Neither tried to catch it.

They simply watched it land.

And for a little while, there was no question, no answer, no yesterday, and no tomorrow.

There was only autumn.

Only the temple.

Only two monks standing beneath the falling leaves.

And that was enough.