Leaf Piles

Something there is that … loves a leaf pile.

Just the sight of one conjures memories as plentiful as the leaves assembled. My senses come out to play as I look at the collage of reds and yellows, listen as my shoes shuffle through, imagine the dusty taste when we used to have leaf fights, and the feeling when leaves lodged down our shirts.

When I was a child, a man named Mr. Carnivale came to our house with his crew to clean up the leaves. He would throw a tarp on the ground and create a towering pile of leaves then turn away for just a second before reaching for each corner of the tarp. That was my sister’s and my invitation to jump in the pile of leaves. He acted like he didn’t know we were there and carried us away to the curb. He was not a large man but was strong as an ox. Without fail, he acted surprised to see our two heads pop up out of the pile, and we would race around the other side of the house to do it all again.

My days of jumping in leaf piles, let alone being carried, have long gone, but the piles I see still conjure nostalgic feelings of joyful play and carefree living. Watching the last leaves swirl their way to join the others reminds me of life’s seasons. I think about those whom I’ve loved who are no longer, of chapters of my life that have come and gone, and the fact that one day I, too, will follow their example and return to the earth.

To everything there is a season . . . the familiar words go, and the vivid example offered by this year’s leaves bring not sadness so much as an invitation to let my soul take a deep breath. “Enjoy this moment,” I say to myself, as I jump in one more time.