'Tis the Season
of Maple Leaves A cold front blew the golden leaves off of the trees. The branches of the maple trees dark against the sky. The branches of other maple trees are bare against the sky. Our maple is a silver maple. (A lesser maple.) Its leaves yellowing, curling, most still clinging to the branches and some still stubbornly green. What leaves have fallen are curled, mixed with sticks, not the sort of leaves that beg to be piled and jumped into. So we rake the golden drifts that have blown into our drive way from across the street, down the alley, all across our neighborhood and pile then in our yard. Ivory and Sylvan laugh and shriek and jump into the pile and toss leaves into the air. They run back and forth bringing more leaves by the arm full, the wagon full, balanced on the rakes. Their cheeks flush and eyes shine. I try to remember the last time I heard this much laughter and marvel at the simplicity of...