Leaves By The Door

I kind of like the ash leaves by the door. Once golden now dark brown, there is something reassuring about their crunch underfoot when we come home.

It's not that I don't rake -- take a look at the leaf pile in the backyard. And you should have been here last night when, in response to a spousal request to take the potted plants back outside, I chose to rake two new piles of those once golden now brown ash leaves, leaves that were now joined by once red now brown oak leaves from the tree next door.

No. It's not that I don't like to rake. Rather it's that I like those leaves on the ground by the door. So I think I'll leave them there a while longer.

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