Even though colorful leaf bags today are more attractive than the black trash bags I filled when I was a kid, the appeal of the leaves themselves hasn’t changed a bit.
I remember burrowing into the pile of gorgeous reds and oranges piled along the curb, the lower layer damp against my bare legs as I listened, hoping they would whisper to me — share a secret of the universe that only I would be privy too. I felt safely tucked into the Earth’s womb.
That is until I heard the squeal of brakes and a car door slamming. I exploded through the crunchy oneness with nature, the shrill voice of my mom reaching me. “What in tarnation are you thinking, girl? Hiding in a pile of leaves in the road! Good way to get yourself killed!”
I only wanted to become one with the Earth, not have to die to do it. Lucky for me, I was always on the move, not even laying still as I hid from the neighborhood kid who was on the seek end of the game.
Yesterday, as a handful of discarded leaves from my maple tree drifted across the yard, they seemed to whisper that a change is coming, not just for them, but for me too. I want to believe them. Breaking into a writing career is my dream, but I remain tethered to the safety of teaching it.
Knowing when to stay still and when to move is a skill I still haven’t mastered, but I have learned to appreciate the power of stillness — the power of timeliness in our creations.
So rake in your creation. The leaves will fall when they are ready and all you have to do is jump!
Michele Zirkle Marcum is a native of Meigs County and an author. Her column will appear each Tuesday in Ohio Valley Publishing.