I love walking thru fall leaves.
Not just walking thru them, but really kicking them up into the air, like wanting to see them fall again and again – to float gently down, swaying this way and that, living a little poetry for a minute, something myriad generations before had admired and enjoyed.
It’s almost irresistible to rake some leaves up into the air and watch them fall again. It allows the child in me to come out and play. How sublimely pleasant to swish, swish, swish thru leaves piled deep – touching the radiance of their color. Reds deeper than red beets. Yellows that actually glow when they sit between me and the sun.
In some way it is to put their beauty onto ourselves and share in their joy – yes, their joy, for they seem so happy and carefree.
Imagine being waist-deep in some huge pile of leaves, with their earthy “fall fragrance” surrounding, cool and moist. The long yellow leaves soft and almost furry with measured zigzag edge as if cut by pinking shears, the pointy maple leaves, and the large oak leaves.
They sprawl before me like a kingdom or realm, covering grass, chairs, and walkways … roofs and cars … piling up in pots and corners and on porches. And on just the right day, you can hear the leaves falling as they touch the ground all around.
Perhaps I rake the leaves not so much to clean the yard but to play with the leaves in the air.