When I went out to run some errands just before noon, the wind began to blow, tossing leaves from trees and confounding the maintenance man in the parking lot who attempted to collect the leaves in a tidy pile. Not today.
When leaves collect along the curbs where I walk, I succumb to temptation and scuffle along in them. My husband laughs. There's something about the dry rustle that appeals to the child in me.
This poem, by Rose Fyleman, says it well:
October
The summer is over,
The trees are all bare,
There is mist in the garden
And frost in the air.
The meadows are empty
And gathered the sheaves --
But isn't it lovely
Kicking up leaves!
Is kicking up leaves in your list of autumn delights?
