Opinion/Morse: Autumn leaves, don’t fall on me
Michael Morse (mmorsepfd@aol.com) , a monthly contributor, is a retired captain with the Providence Fire Department.
My pristine, leaf free lawn lasted less than a minute.
I stood on my deck, rake in hand and considered chasing the little bandits that fell from the trees, picking each one up so I could get some time to bask in the glory that my three hours worth of proactive leaf abatement had created. Then I looked up for inspiration, and instead saw that I had a long way to go.
Three more three-hour-long battles were in my future, twenty dollars more worth of paper bags to be filled each time. It would be Christmas before the job was through, so I surrendered for the moment and sat on my plastic Adirondack chair end enjoyed the silent whispers as each leaf fell to its death.
“Die then, wretched tree litter,” I mumbled, forgetting all about the shade that my foes had provided all summer, and the joy they heralded as winter turned to spring. I had considered cremating the little cretins but figured the Climate Change Committee would have a cow, so I quickly abandoned that idea. The empty lot that bordered my property tempted me, again, but layers of composted leaves from previous wars threatened to breech the top rail of my fence, and overflow into the fall grass.
Twenty fully packed leaf bags waited for my attention, spread out in neat little increments in groups of two or three, waiting. I dragged my tired body off my seat and started the final assault. One by one I carried the corpses through my kingdom, through the gate and onto the edge of my property, lining them up in a neat row much like Vlad the Impaler once did to sow fear into anybody crazy enough to invade his land.
Yet still, more leaves fell.
Some day I will find peace and solace in the changing of the seasons, as the heat and humidity subsides and the cooler air of fall brings with it relief from the pressure of enjoying the beautiful, sun-filled days. I imagine carefree moments sitting inside by the fire, a Patriots game on the TV, Crockpot full of chili, three bags of tortilla chips and a cold beverage by my side.
I’ll sit there, like The King, and boldly state “fall leaves, just don’t fall on me” from my carefree throne away from the noise and confusion of change. Then I’ll swipe the crumbs from my chest onto the floor, guzzle my beverage and belch into the void.
But not this day.
In the meantime, I’ll rake the leaves as they fall and stuff them into paper bags as more trickle down from above, say hello to neighbors who stroll past, and try to finish by game time so I can enjoy a cup of tea and some low-fat crackers and hummus before the grandkids come over.
Maybe I’ll dump a bag of leaves back on the grass, dig out that old pair of jeans from the bottom of the pile, grab the shirt I haven’t worn in three years, find a paper shopping bag and a sharpie, draw a face on it and watch the kids make a scarecrow while listening to the game on the radio.
The secret to a happy life is compromise, I guess. So I compromise, and let the leaves win this battle. Nobody has to know that I have every intention of winning this year’s war, and by New Year’s Day the final remnants of the leaf army will be history. Empty branches will dominate the skyline, the sun bereft of warmth will shine, and I might even sneak a few stragglers of fall into my fire pit to watch them burn.
Compromise is far more satisfying when you have a plan.
This article originally appeared on The Providence Journal: Opinion/Morse: Autumn leaves, don’t fall on me
