Story About A Tree

On the Walk – Images Edition
I was born in a country where Fall lasts maybe a day or two. It’s short but special in its own way. There’s a flower that blooms only then—when you see it, you know Fall has arrived. And the first rain after Summer brings a smell that clears the air and washes away the dust. It feels like a new beginning.
In the US (at least in the Northeast), Fall is a full season. And with that, I want to share a story about a tree.
A tree I see every year—sometimes every day—and no matter how many times I pass by it, I appreciate it more. Its colors are mesmerizing. Whether I’m running, walking, or driving, the light always plays differently through its leaves.
When my kids were smaller, I used to drive by this tree with them on the way to school or after pickup and say, every single time, “Look at this beautiful tree.”
And every single time, they’d roll their eyes and say, “Mom, you already said that yesterday… and this morning…”
But you see, I know what it means not to pass by such a beautiful tree—or even to miss the change of colors. For some reason, nature is wise enough to make sure I notice it every year. I’m never surprised, just grateful that I can see its beauty again.
This morning, after a week of rain, everything looked even more special. On my walk, the air was clear, the colors deeper. Later, driving to my coworking space, I called my husband to say good morning—he’s on the West Coast—and he said, “You sound so happy.”
Well, first, I learned I didn’t need to show up for Jury Duty today, which means a clear day for deep work (my favorite). And second, the short drive from home to downtown was stunning—all the trees glowing red and yellow after the rain, sunlight playing through their leaves.
Yes, this is me-energy in the Fall: appreciative, curious. It feeds the work I do with my clients—exploring meaningful connection, trust, collaboration, and the ways we shift under stress or calm. All those paradoxes of being human.
Every year that tree reminds me why I love my work. Trees are systems.
Systems—like trees—are alive, connected, and even when they’re messy, if you don’t force the leaves away too soon, they’ll do their work—nourishing the ground and feeding new ecosystems.
When you listen, you start to see how everything interacts: stress, beauty, growth, decay. It’s all information.
And maybe that’s the point. The Noa who listens, not the Noa who knows, helps the system find its rhythm again.
Now if only I could photosynthesize caffeine, I’d be unstoppable.
What do you notice right now?

PS - that's the tree