Leaves

“Leaves are verbs that conjugate the seasons.“ -Gretel Ehrlich

For All Hallows’ Eve

I’ve mentioned before that I became a homeowner at the start of Fall, when the days start to shorten and the air slowly begins to cool. My first time out to clean-up the yard in late October concluded with twenty-two bags filled with fallen leaves — a laborious task that was only the beginning. The need to get out the blower and rake became a weekly requirement that I would engage in for the rest of the year. I can remember paying attention to whether it would rain or not: if the leaves were not dry, the blower was noticeably less effective. I can remember the feeling of smashing the leaves as deep in the bag as possible, wondering if I could fit one more scoop or if it was time to seal up this bag and grab another. The past two years, however, a dedicated yard service has taken up this task for me. And I find myself missing it now this Autumn.

What occurred to me, and part of why I miss the raking and bagging, was what was actually taking place. This wasn’t just some chore to keep my yard looking nice, or the grass from being smothered, or the pedestrians walking by happy. I was picking up dead leaves that had fallen because they no longer had the life to hold on to their branch, and gathering them in a place to rest before being taken away. This was a burial. I was the undertaker. The bags were the hearse.

The leaves, at least in Texas, begin their heaviest descent in late October as we approach Halloween. This is fitting to me as October 31 (Hallows’ Eve) and November 1 (Hallowmas) not only celebrate the dead, but mark the halfway point between Fall and Winter. Put another way, it is the meeting of the two seasons. It seems to be that moment where we notice that the days are shorter, but aren’t used to that reality yet. When we have to remind ourselves to grab a coat as we head out the door, and are startled by the brisk wind as we walk outside. And yet, in Winter there will be no need for a reminder or a surprise that we are eating two-thirds of our meals in the darkness of night. The funeral of leaves and Halloween invite our minds to catch up with what our bodies have already experienced.

Instead of leaves, it has been pumpkin carving that has extended this invitation for me the past two years. The hollowing out of a large orange pumpkin has a hallowing effect on the changing weather. The lighting of candles each night to illumine the carved faces is a reminder that the sun is entering it's last quarter of brightness. It is, like the leaves, dying. But, there is a smile on the Jack o’ Lantern (even as it rots) and candy is brightening up the face of my children. The emptying of pumpkins and the nakedness of trees is not, in fact, a loss of what they are; but a making room for what they can be.

May you find joy in this Halloween season, where the dead are remembered and honored. May it be in the candlelight of a pumpkin, the sweetness of candy or the amusement of costumes. May you not be saddened as the leaves pass, but be swept up in how easily they welcome what is next and participate in their own transformation. And may you, my friend, center you heart and mind with the ever changing seasons.