Monday, September 21, 2009

Dance In Her Leaves

Don't you love autumn? Dad would make long rows of leaves piled several inches high. And, when I was tagging along, he would make the rows into big squares surrounding the 'leafless' grass. I would pretend that this was my house of many rooms. We burned leaves back then. I would toss bits of my leaf-house into the the blaze watching them shrivel, burn, then drift away. The air was full of a scent that only fall can offer.

Years later I had children. We lived in Wisconsin. Fall meant a definite chill in the air. Bedecked in mittens, scarves and heavy coats, my kids would follow their dad as he raked, and, much to his frustration, scattering his pile of leaves. Finally, he would relent and rake the crunchy leaves into one, enormous pile. Immediately, small, bundled bodies were flung the pile of leaves and filling the air with the sound of wonderful, childhood laughter. When they came back into the house, the were red faced and starry eyed.

What beauty and memory the seasons hold. Firey reds, shades of yellow decorating the landscape. Fleeting autumn visits. Somehow the fading memories of summer, the graying plants, the barren trees seem not images of a season gone but rather more like a season bearing the natural colors of a napping earth.

Smell the fragrance of fall. Enjoy her beauty. Most of all, dance in her leaves.

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