How to Catch a Falling Leaf

"The principle of selectivity."

This is the fancy phrase for an interpretive aid I've recently learned in the classroom, one that helps a reader identify an author's intended meaning within the particular genre of narrative—or, story. For those who prefer sentences, we can say it like this: an author's choice implies meaning.


In this sense, all stories are short stories. One cannot possibly include every detail of any story. (Nor, we quickly add, would that be too desirable for the reader!) Even the most long-winded and wordy among us necessarily make "executive decisions" about what to include—namely, those details that further the story's aim, or agenda.

For example, what would we think if Charles Dickens were to follow up his opening lines in A Christmas Carol—"Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that."—with pages and pages of pontification about photosynthesis before continuing "The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it..."? Unless Dickens goes on to connect plant digestion to Marley's deadness, this excursus (thrilling as it may be) works against his agenda. This simply isn't how rational human beings communicate with one another. The reader's raised eyebrows soon give way to confusion, even frustration.

Therefore, we simply make the observation that those particular sentences an author chooses to include in a story carry meaning, meaning he intends the reader to see.

Applying this principle to this blog, you may rightly conclude that this author makes it his ambition to catch as many falling leaves as possible during the autumn months. (The current count is 6!) In the interest of spreading a passion for childlike wonder (agenda), I thought I would try to document some of the mental activity that usually accompanies such gravitational fun.

Step 1: Strategize!

My first step in catching a falling leaf is a visual one. This may sound like common sense, but I say it anyway: to catch a leaf you first need to catch a tree. Leaves do fall out of the sky, but not without a little help. And in the interest of increasing your odds, it would be savvy of you to first catch lots of trees. Most call this a forest.

Once I find myself amongst a modest gathering of tall sticks, my next move is to "look for an opening" so to speak—sort of like a running back plotting behind the line of scrimmage, or like an otherwise standup citizen digging for a booger in public. Picking your spot helps.

Specifically, what draws my eyes upward:

• a high canopy (>20 ft) -- increases both visibility and reaction time
• the reds, the oranges and the yellows -- somewhat subjective, I know, but I've yet to snag anything green
• the rustling of the wind -- single most important factor at this stage

A couple examples:

The ground says it all.

Step 2: Target!

Once I've strategized, my next step is to target an actual falling leaf. To recognize the opportunity. To get in the game. To seize the day!

Key thing I remember at this point:

• Don't commit too early -- the wind blows where it wills. What looks promising initially may end up in the river. I suggest maintaining stride until you just can't take it any more. How will you know? As Irv told Derese in Cool Runnings, "You'll know."

Step 3: Execute!

Once the target is in range, the legs speeding ahead, the heart racing, the last step is to execute.

There are differing opinions among even the most efficient leaf-catchers, but I suggest using any and every part of your body to finish the job. The hands are definitely the most versatile, but don't limit yourself. Especially when a leaf takes a last second turn, I've found my feet to prove themselves quite effective.

Your instinct may also tell you to stick with your dominant hand (after all, you only get a few shots right?), but I've actually snagged more with my off-hand (left-hand) this year.


Step 4: Rejoice!

Finally, with leaf in hand, don't forget to rejoice and praise the Maker of all things for creating a world full of both big delights and small delights. The biggest delight of all is God himself, so much so that the Psalmist declares, "In your presence is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." (Ps. 16:11). And yet, he also creates stuff—like light, and the color red, and the ground, and trees, and leaves, and seasons, and wind. And people, with legs and hands and fingers. And, with a mind to take it all in.

How glorious is this world we live in? And much how more glorious is the One who thought it all up?!