How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.
My family and I live in on a multi-treed half acre; the majority of the trees are post oaks. We calls fall “the laughing season.” Beginning in October, we rake and rake and rake. As soon as we finish raking a spot, after we’ve bagged the leaves, we turn around to survey our work and see that the trees have already dropped more leaves. I’ve watched the last leaves stubbornly cling to the tree until February. We love our home.