Most the Leaves are Brown

There’s a beautiful blanket of leaves across the street. A patchwork of sorrel, copper, and sienna (burnt and raw, but not Miller ... oh not, never her) covers the surprisingly resilient green grass of Bryanston Square. The autumn spoils spill past the gates and onto the sidewalk, filling the gutters. Winter’s welcome mat.

I love the look of them … speckled and scattered. I love the smell of them … earthy and damp. I even love watching the kids in boots running through them, kicking and crunching, their giggles giving life to the crinkling crispness of summer’s falling remains.

But you know what I love the most?

Not having to rake them.