The crunch under my shoes. The crinkly texture. The—some might say—gaudy color. The contradiction of youthful play and rotting vegetation. Fallen leaves are all these things and more. It is raining leaves right now. From my window I see the sun glistening on each leaf as it gently glides to the ground. The lightness of the dance through the air of those golden-shaded leaves is calming and peaceful and yes, magical. I love to use my senses to experience leaves this time of year—the rustling sound, the fermented smell, the bold colors and the varying feel of the leaves depending on how long they have been on the ground. I haven’t tasted them—yet.
Leaves provide potential for a myriad of DIY projects. Use them to make richly colorful table settings or use them as part of your Halloween display with pumpkins. For your wedding, why not use leaves as part of your wedding favors? Leaves, leaves, everywhere!
Here are two poems in honor of the fall leaves. Though the second one is called November Night, the words speak so well to the sense and feeling of fallen leaves. Enjoy!
Neighbors in October
By David Baker
All afternoon his tractor pulls a flat wagon
with bales to the barn, then back to the waiting
chopped field. It trails a feather of smoke.
Down the block we bend with the season:
shoes to polish for a big game,
storm windows to batten or patch.
And how like a field is the whole sky now
that the maples have shed their leaves, too.
It makes us believers—stationed in groups,
leaning on rakes, looking into space. We rub blisters
over billows of leaf smoke. Or stand alone,
bagging gold for the cold days to come.
By Adelaide Crapsey
Listen. . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees