Day 14: Leafy Love

I’m pretty sure the tree outside my front porch used to belong to a Disney villain. It isn’t very tall but it likes to assert itself. Every time it gets trimmed it grows back even taller and faster than before, like the pruned limbs were somehow holding it back from its real goal which is to steal the clouds from the sky. It bears little purple berries that someone told me are crab apples, but I’ve read my fairy tales and I am not silly enough to actually try one. The tree had a tag identifying it once upon a time, left over from the previous owner who planted it. I tried to read it once but couldn’t make out what it said, and then the tree bark neatly subsumed it and now all that is left is a bit of yellow plastic poking out of the trunk. If the tree doesn’t want its true name known, who am I to argue?

Any way, if my tree is not plotting ways to grow taller, it likes to act like the Whomping Willow from Harry Potter. It enjoys smacking guests who come up the walkway and especially likes snagging my sweaters. Also like the Whomping Willow, it doesn’t like to lose its leaves gradually; rather it dumps a few here and there and then goes totally bare in the blink of an eye. It still has a few leaves left on it now, it wasn’t totally successful in shedding them this weekend, but it tried.

The deceptively docile trees leaves are the most gorgeous purple/red color and I think I am going to collect a few this year and make some sort of shadow box out of them. They look like crimson fruit leather or even real leather for that matter. Some are buttery golden yellow and I wish they could be that color year round. They looked especially beautiful this weekend when the heavens let loose and poured out some much needed rain. In the aftermath the leaves looked to be bedecked with tiny diamonds sparkling in the sunlight. My bejeweled tree easily outshone anything created by Tiffany and Co.

I love watching the leaves turn. Its nature’s final bow before the brittle fingers of winter steal the warm breath from our lungs and cover the fallen beauty. But as much as I love looking at the leaves, I love playing in them even more. I love the crackling sound they make as they are swept up. I love the sound of their whispers as they float down from on high. Some people like snow angels, I like leaf angels. I love to toss them in the air and blow them around with my leaf blower. My dog likes to bounce in them like a Tigger and pretend to hide so I can’t see him. He growls at them and pounces until a particularly large pile topples over, and then he bravely runs away. Leaves are fun for the whole family.

I used to watch shows where people would jump in piles of leaves and frolic. I read about it, I heard about it and by golly I wanted to do it, but I could never get a large enough pile together to do it, or if I could, they were wet and not conducive to jumping or frolicking in. Wet leaves are gross. But one day, one glorious fall day, I was over at a friend’s house playing and her father and brother had just raked an enormous pile of leaves.  It was right there. RIGHT. THERE off of the front porch, and it was calling my name. Her father and brother went to put their rakes away and I told my friend I was going to go for it. She told me I had better not. I figured she was a killjoy who wanted the leafy goodness all to herself and there was no way I was going to let that happen.  So before she could stop me I climbed up onto the porch railing and jumped. I expected to float gently into the pile just like a leaf on the wind. I expected to land on the crackling mound and bounce like on a trampoline or slightly squishy bed. Instead I went right through the pile to the cold and unforgiving concrete below. I did not land like a leaf on the wind; I landed like a bunch of wet laundry on a linoleum floor. I bruised my ego and my butt. I lay there slightly winded and in pain and wondering what the heck happened. My friend ran to get her dad and brother and I lay in a sad, confused, and achy lump. I didn’t break anything thank goodness, but I sure felt dumb. Those lying leaf jumpers, how come it worked for them and not me?

I lay there stewing until my friend’s father came and checked me over. I was helped to my feet and then I gingerly hobbled back into the house like a geriatric patient who had taken leave of her senses. I was sat down on the sofa and scolded. I didn’t much hear or care because I was still mad about my botched leaf jumping experience and my friend ratting me out. Clearly her family did not know how to make a correct leaf pile. I don’t remember if her parents told my parents (they probably did) I don’t remember if I got scolded some more or not. I do however still recall the feeling of my tailbone hitting the ground. shudder

I never jumped in a pile of leaves again. I didn’t want to be disappointed a second time. I don’t think I could take it. I still make leaf angels and play, but no jumping. I still see it in movies and read about it in stories, friends’ children tell me how they jumped in piles but I tend to be skeptical. Maybe for them it works. Maybe that pile so long ago really was defective. Maybe I wanted it so bad I sucked the magic right out of it, or maybe you just shouldn’t jump off a porch railing? Who knows? Leaves are still magical. They are still beautiful and I can still enjoy them all autumn long.

What do you like best about leaves?

Disclaimer: Please do not jump off of porch railings into piles of leaves. I do the dangerous stuff so you don't have to. 

Credit: These are my friends children playing in leaves. This photo is what inspired today's thought.