The trees at the end of my property are still golden and just came into peak last week. They are full as full can be. And soon, they too, will drop. I have been leaf-blowing, raking and bagging now at least one day per weekend (sometimes both) since the middle of October. An exercise I initially enjoyed, especially during those perfectly blissful autumn days! But it is getting old. And fast. It’s now been four weeks. And why do my neighbor’s trees seem to covet my property? I’ll never figure that one out.
I just imagine my trees laughing at me each morning when I wake up only to find that they have spilled their loved ones over my newly manicured lawns. Upon inspection out my back window, I cannot even see the green grass. Totally covered. A golden bedspread.
It’s kind of ironic isn’t it, that we love our autumn leaves so, and then spend countless hours damning them during fall cleanup. Through the winter, some leaves inevitably nestle under the bushes, become trapped in the hollows of the trees, or scoot under my garage doors to hide in the corners after a gust of wind has carried them to their winter dens. I don’t pay much attention to them though, especially the ones outside buried under the snow. Hidden from my view is good.
In spring, when cleanup once again begins, I ask myself, how did I miss so many leaves???? Have they come back to haunt me? The trees already are sprouting new buds, and here I am six months later, raking, leaf-blowing and bagging. The leaf massacre continues.
Now and then, in the very far reaches of my garage when summer mowing ensues, I will discover some leaves that still hold a speck of autumn color, somehow mummified from the long, cold winter. If I pick them up, I can still catch that intoxicating aroma. And closing my eyes, I sense that autumn is really not that far away.
Those damn leaves? Yes, I still love ‘em just the same.
Must be something in the water.