photo source: www.pnc.edu/ photos/autumn2005/
It was so nice to get out. D went out first, and I felt guilty, seeing him toiling by himself. So I grabbed my (hand knit, ahem) sweater and a rake and tackled the leaves by the kitchen door. I'd forgotten how satisfying it is to create a pile and drag it off, leaving a (well, an almost) pristine patch. L, after a bit of prodding, got into the act, carrying away tarp-fulls as I raked them up.
Here, we can rake the leaves (or dump them) into huge banks at the edge of the road, and someone from the town comes by in an orange truck and hoovers them up. But their schedule is a mystery, so perhaps we will be raking the same leaves back up into a pile again.
I remember my father raking them into a pile and burning them; I miss that smoky smell of autumn in the suburbs . . . And of course, nowadays, I could do without the annoying roar of the leaf blower.
