Of Leaves And Scars

I went for a walk in the woods today and couldn't resist picking up a particularly pretty fallen leaf. Before I knew it, I was unable to stop picking up leaves and spent the rest of the walk with my head down and a growing handful of bright colors, just like when I was little kid walking home from Elementary school.

Picking up the leaves, I realized that the most beautiful ones had the most imperfections. The perfect ones were kind of boring, but the ones with all the colors and textures were fascinating to look at. These were also missing pieces, or torn, or with holes where a little bug had taken a bite. But somehow that makes them better, doesn't it?

And I realized this is true of people as well. Our scars, bruises and beat up parts (both physical and emotional) are what make us who we are. They are lingering proof of all the things we lived through, survived, accomplished, worked hard for, cried bitter tears over.

Anyone who is without these "imperfections" is either a newborn baby or someone who has never truly LIVED their lives. The most beautiful people I know are just like these leaves.