Just play: don't look at your hands! |
I posted this yesterday, but no sign of it tonight. So here it is again. “Look At All Those Leaves!” When she opened up her door and saw the leavings of the night’s forceful wind, her voice was sharp and sad. “Look at all those leaves!” she said. She knew the work that it would take to rake them all. It wasn’t her first fall, and maybe not her last. She put on Jack’s old coat and leather gloves and went out to the storage shed to get her tools: two rakes, one’s handle would come loose as she worked with it a while, and she didn’t know which one. It hadn’t been repaired, just stuck back on and hung again beside the other on a nail. The leaves were bright against the neutral sky. She tied an old plaid scarf beneath her chin and started at the east side of the lawn, head down into the chill. A neighbor’s boy came pedaling up the street into her drive. “You need some help?” he asked. “It sure does look that way,” she said, and smiled and handed him the extra rake. His mother probably had sent him. He headed for the far side of the yard and pulled in heaps of leaves with strong fast strokes, advancing his pile deftly, nearing hers. His rusty rake head did come off, but each time he would jam it on again and keep on working. Near the end she said she’d better go get bags and went inside. He followed her, breathing on his hands to warm them. Even though they still had work to do, and she hadn’t planned to make it until they were through, she offered him a cup of cocoa and she poured one for herself. Wrapping up again against the cold, they headed down the steps. The boy gazed at the pile in awe and whistled. “Look at all those leaves!” he said and launched himself headlong into its heights. She scowled, then changed her mind and said instead, “ Maybe I should try it—one more time.” |