I've shared my feelings on leaves before in Leaving the Leaves back in 2014.

Every year I have the same argument with my family. Every year, as soon as the leaves begin to change color, one would think we are expecting a blizzard. The anticipation of how much of a mess the leaves will make is unbearable to them. They linger by the windows, gaze out and watch for days into weeks, seeing and monitoring how the leaves are falling and wonder out loud how and when the leaves will be cleaned up. 

 

Every year I say the same thing, “Leave the leaves.” Their reaction is the same every year too, “WHY?”, more a whine than an inquiry. 

 

I never understood the purpose of raking up dying leaves only to expose the drying grass. It seems to me a dumb and wasted effort. 

 

Autumn is my favorite season and personally, I have always liked the look of a pile of leaves. I like the crunch under my feet as I shuffle through a nice pile of tawny crisp leaves just waiting and ready to be pulverized for their end purpose of food for the earth. Then there’s the smell of moldering leaves, musky and woody, to remind you that it’s almost finished its life cycle and ready for the last stage of their seasonal performance. Why not wait until the show is totally over? 

 

The best collection of falling leaves is under our maple in the back yard. Over the years this Maple has become a grand old lady. Every year it is a spectacular transition of dark green to blazing red to a brilliant yellow that almost glows in the sunlight. When the leaves begin to lazily waft to the ground they go from the yellow to a rich tawny gold where they collect in an almost perfect ring around the base of the tree, like a skirt that’s just dropped from a waist. 

 

I insist we leave the leaves where they fall and will eventually break down over the winter. It’s only natural.