Through the Thinning Leaves

We began the final phase of our yearly game today… my yard and I. The leaves from the surrounding trees that keep me shaded throughout the spring and summer have started there trek to the ground. There is moisture in the air that pulls from high above in the spider web of clouds. They contrast against the light blue sky… and I watch. I watch for a hint of wind that will steal my breath in the cold morning.

I plugged in the leaf blower and untangled the cord I have used with it for years. I know it’s the right one because of the repair I had to make several years ago. I knotted it about a foot away from the end. In the loop sits a patch of electrical tape that holds together the tender green, white and black wires that are intertwined with nylon cording.

The cat wakes up from her nap in the sunshine when she hears the whine of the small electrical motor. It makes a quick pull to my left against my wrist as the torque of the motor fills the black tube with exhausted air… and the leaves blow in swirls.

The leaves are in every crevice of the yard… and in every fall color. The crepe myrtle leaves are pointed at both ends and blend brown with pale yellow on both ends of the driveway. The red bud tree is almost bare and has spread her yellow, heart shaped drapery in the yard. The striking brown from my neighbor’s pines have made their way into my yard along with an adventurous pine cone or two.

The river birch is shedding its serrated edged foliage in record time. The squirrels skip around the tree tops and cause a haphazard cascade that falls like the waves of the ocean. Her papery bark pulls at their path as they make their way down.

And then there is Mother Oak. She moves like a thunder cloud in the light breeze… twisting slightly to the left and to the right in a dancer’s motion. She releases just enough of her leaves to keep herself entertained. She knows tomorrow we will be together again. Her brown leaves hide the green ivy that crawl along her trunk. But, she holds on to the green and bronze in her mighty canopy.

We will dance the dance of fall and winter. The grass will be cut a final time and wait for its raking. The blower will push the grass in a swirled pattern and the cat will watch from the safety of the street. The children will pull on wooden handles attached to rake ends and long for the warmth of hot chocolate. And we look to the skies through the thinning leaves and barren branches toward a time of spring when we will begin again.

                                                                        Shannon R Killman