I’ve spend a good deal of time outside this fall. The weather has been so nice, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to bond with Mother Nature.
It was while I was walking through the woods with my hubby yesterday that I was reminded of Robert Frost’s poem, “Gathering Leaves,” because the ground crunched with every step I took.
Ground that is covered with leaves brings back happy childhood memories for me. My cousins and I would play with them, throwing them up in the air to watch them fall to earth again. Those were simple, innocent times for us.
By Robert Frost
Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away.
But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face.
I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who’s to say where The harvest shall stop?
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