There is something about using an old metal rake. The wide plastic rakes and new high-tech blowers just cannot give you the haven and peace that the metal ones give. They bring back memories of my daddy and I jumping in huge piles of crispy leaves. I begin to remember my friends and I being ‘buried alive’ beneath the chilled blanket of color. Working up a sweat on my brow, my fingers freeze as I struggle to get every leaf into my growing pile. Wishing I could bring back childhood friends, and innocent times. When I finish I slowly lay back, allowing the dry leaves to entangle in my curly hair.
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1 comment:
Yes, those were good memories. The leaves, the piles, the hidden treasures.
Even now, I can still smell the smells of my mother burning the leeches off of my arms and legs.
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