leaves

Tonight, I raked in the lamplight. Memories came floating in like leaves on a blustery day deep in The Hundred Acre Wood. I tried to remember everything Dad taught me: how to hoist myself up and into the orange-lined garbage can to stomp stomp stomp, leaves crunching with every step; to comb the grass in big full swoops; and to use the rake to aide in transporting golden yellow leaves into their hibernation hut, deep within the orange bags the City left on our doorstep.
I wore my Boden barrett, old soccer socks and black gloves to stay toasty and cooked corn chowder on the stove to warm my insides when I finished. Tomorrow brings a short day of work. Then making pies with Sister and Chardo and prepping the house for all things Turkey Day. And, now that the leaves are raked, I'm hoping for snow.