Before, she thought of them only in leaf piles...crisp pyramids from a fragrant past. Jumping or crashing into a world of certain maybes, sometimes wet and scary. The little bugs. The worms.
But now they fall most everywhere around her, and their presence feels different. Nostalgic, but changed. What are these things that have to be raked? How is it possible- there are so very many- tumbling in somersaults down from the sky. What is the use of putting them in piles? What will become of the grass underneath? How is it that these leaves used to be "dealt with"...They fell, and then they disappeared, ushered away by modern contraptions buzzing in the hands of men with red T-shirts.
Here, there is no buzzing, no humming, no logo-printed truck to take them all away. They fall and keep falling, covering her house in such physical rain.
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