The Last Leaf and the Hour Given Back

My boys,

October began with color.

Now most of it is on the ground.

The trees that spent the month becoming impossible not to notice are nearly bare.

This morning, I stood outside with coffee and watched one last leaf holding to a branch above the yard.

Brown around the edges.

A little gold still left in the middle.

The wind moved it.

It held.

The wind stopped.

It stayed.

I wondered why that one.

Why not yesterday?

Why not next week?

Then I realized I was asking a leaf to explain timing.

We do that with our own lives too.

Why did this end now?

Why did that person stay so long?

Why did this season pass quickly while another seemed unwilling to move?

Why wasn't I ready when the change came?

October does not answer.

It changes anyway.

Tomorrow, we move the clocks back.

An hour returns.

At least that is what we call it.

An extra hour.

I like the sound of that.

As though somewhere there has been a small account holding sixty minutes in my name.

As though time finally owes me something.

But it doesn't.

The hour was never lost.

And tomorrow's hour is not really returned.

We simply move the numbers on our clocks and experience the morning differently.

Still, the idea makes me think.

What would I do if God actually handed me one hour of my life back?

Not another hour at the end.

One I already lived.

Would I use it to work harder?

Fix a mistake?

Say something differently?

There are certainly hours I would like another chance at.

But I think I would choose something ordinary.

An hour when you boys were smaller.

Nothing important happening.

One of you on the floor with toys everywhere.

Another asking me the same question for the sixth time.

Someone hungry.

Someone missing a sock.

Me standing there thinking about whatever needed to be done next.

I would go back to that hour.

And this time I would know.

I would know that the toys would disappear.

The little shoes would become bigger ones.

The questions would change.

The voice calling "Baba" from another room would deepen.

I would know the ordinary hour was leaving while I was inside it.

Maybe I would do almost nothing differently.

Except be there for all sixty minutes.

That is the trouble with time.

We recognize so much of its value after it becomes memory.

October has been teaching me that.

At the beginning of the month, the trees showed their true colors.

By the end, even the colors had to go.

Maybe that is another kind of truth.

Beauty does not owe us permanence.

Neither does a season.

Neither does childhood.

Neither does strength.

Neither do the people we love.

We are given things for a while.

Our job is not to make them stay forever.

Our job is to be awake while they are here.

The last leaf finally falls sometime in the afternoon.

I do not see it happen.

When I look again, the branch is empty.

For a moment, I am disappointed that I missed it.

Then I smile.

I did see it this morning.

Maybe that was enough.

My boys,

tomorrow the clock will give us what looks like another hour.

Use it however you want.

Sleep.

Eat breakfast slowly.

Walk.

Pray.

Call somebody.

Sit together.

Do absolutely nothing for a while.

Just do not confuse having another hour with having unlimited ones.

That is the mistake.

I have made it enough.

Tonight, October closes.

The trees are quieter.

The evenings are darker.

The house is warmer.

And I am carrying fewer illusions about how long anything stays.

That does not make me sad.

It makes me want to pay attention.

Tomorrow is November.

Another season moves closer.

Another morning waits.

And whatever hour God gives us when we wake—

we will spend it once.

I love you.

— Baba

Question:

If you were given one ordinary hour of your life back, which one would you choose—and what would you finally notice while you were inside it?

Moral:

Time returned is mostly an illusion. The real gift is recognizing the hour while it is still yours.

This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to preserve perspective, gratitude, family, faith, and intention.

Author: R. Solace