|Photo courtesy of PublicDomainPictures.net|
All the leaves have turned to cornflakes.
It looks as if some giant's baby brother
had tipped the box
and scattered them upon our lawn --
millions and millions of cornflakes --
crunching, crunching under our feet.
When the wind blows,
they rattle against each other,
We rake them into piles --
Dad and I.
Piles and piles of cornflakes!
A breakfast for a whole family of giants!
We do not talk much as we rake --
a word here --
a word there.
The leaves are never silent.
Inside the house my mother is packing
short sleeved shirts and faded bathing suits --
rubber clogs and flippers --
in a box marked SUMMER
We are raking,
Dad and I.
The sky is blue, then orange, then gray.
My arms are tired.
I am dreaming of the box marked SUMMER.
~ Bobbi Katz
I love the image of the leaves as cornflakes, spilled by a giant! I remember many autumn days when I was young, raking and raking, just like in this poem. (We don't get many leaves in the yard at our current home, thank goodness.) My arms would get tired, too. I don't know that I dreamed of summer while doing it, but I might have dreamed of winter and Christmas. Nowadays I try to just enjoy whichever season I'm in -- though it's much easier to appreciate autumn now that I don't have to rake! :)