So many leaves — what did I expect mid-November. As soon 

as I pressure my daughter into raking them, it rains 

that evening. What’s left on the ground, a damp and soggy

mess and then, dry in the morning, with one strong gust, more 

wind-blown-into-my-yard kin conceal the grass. Depending 

upon who I watch or what I read, I’m left confused about

leaves. Neighbors make a ruckus with their leaf blowers, 

intent to not leave one behind. An article on the internet 

encourages readers not to rake leaves, intones:

leaves provide benefits to the environment. Placed over flower 

beds, mulched and let to lie, leaves protect plants and supply 

nutrients. Squished into a rusty, old red wheelbarrow —

several bags filled with leaves.  I cart them to the curb, 

remembering the October day my daughter, tiny at two, plunked 

on a pile of leaves, pure bliss across her face as she threw leaves

and more leaves into the air, her head tilted to the sky, she 

watched

leaves tumble to the ground.  Leaves covered her legs, her torso, 

almost covered her entire body.                  The beauty

of autumn leaves glazing the grass, the day drenched in sunshine 

before what we didn’t yet know, thirty years ago, would be 

an evening of wind and rain and in morning,

we’d awake to fields of snow.