Raking leaves

Early November, rake in hand 

Rhythmic meditation

Wooden handle in my palm 

Raking leaves always made me smile 

Memories of the little girl who saw the rake 

Not as a chore, but as a playful process

Gathering together the leaves

No, no, not cleaning a mess

Creating a soft place to land 

With a reckless leap into 

The gold brown heap 

The earthy, musty smell 

The crackle of leaves in my hair 

Appreciating the ritual of this season 

And sure to leave some leaves for the fireflies

To sleep away the winter 

Hiding places for little things 

Nourishment for the soil 

Then came the man with his machines 

A mission to blow the yard bare

An act of service to showcase his care

And so I let him, my words unheard 

To not be grateful seemed so rude

He saw it as job to be done

No joy no fun 

But I should accept it, allow him to 

Speak his love language 

Not hurt his feelings 

Let him show he cared in his way, this way 

I wanted the leaves to stay — 

To feed the soil

To shelter the quiet things -

He needed a clear lawn to pretend his hands were clean

Seasons change and

The sound of motors dies 

The leaves fall from the trees  

This time, once again 

My rake and I dance with 

The falling leaves 

The little girl in me smiles as 

Some we gather, some we leave 

Nurturing the soil and my own soul 

My heart is light as I pile them high 

And leap