My second favorite time of the year. Looie and I go walking.

The sun shines bright and it is raining leaves.

We walk down our driveway on a thick, cushiony pad of golden river birch leaves.

Someone at the park rakes the oak leaves into a pile and the kids jump in them.

Looie wants to join in

So I let him.

He emerges jubilant with a beard of leaves on his chin hairs.

Maybe it’s his second favorite time of the year, too.

Though the leaves flutter down  like floating butterflies, their job is far from done.

Now they provide cozy blankets for spring bulbs,

And cover the ground with a wealth of nutrition.


(Is this a poem?)


Tip: Mulch. Don’t rake.

2 Responses to FALL LEAVES

  • Glenn says:

    A not very well known fact:
    Leaves are detrimental to the purity of our ground water. Important to rake and dispose properly. Don’t burn – not good for our air regardless of how good the smell of burning leaves. Mulch them! A win win solution.

  • Mike Lance says:

    I have decided that poetry is in the eye of the beholder. If you want to call it a poem, it is. I’ve read poems that look like flash fiction (which I prefer) and those that seem to follow rules to which I’m not privy. And, yet others which belong in the privy.

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