A Memory of Leaves

Were the piles of leaves bigger back then, or was I shorter? Leaves you could leap into like a swimming pool. Leaves you could roll in to cover yourself completely. Leaves you could kick to make them clatter down the sidewalk ahead of you. Leaves skittering down the street like waves on the ocean.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “a memory of leaves.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “A Memory of Leaves”

  1. Each October very close to the thirteenth of the month I become somewhat melancholy thinking of my mother’s birthday. Without fail it is approximately the middle of October when New England’s exquisitely painted leaves are at the height of their beauty. It’s always been a battle for me between spring or fall: which is my favorite season? I still haven’t been able to make up my mind. I don’t remember enjoying playing in fall leaves until after moving into my first house in the suburbs. Probably because I lived in a large city where there weren’t many trees in our backyards. When I went outside during my first fall in our new home I was like an insane woman. I was visually overcome by all the variations of red, gold, brown. The crunching sound was delightful as I walked through the woods. There is a crisp special scent of fallen leaves as one plods through them . Although I’ve been a devout gardener since my first home and hence first garden, nothing was as exciting as being an adult and yet overcome with the youthful spontaneous joy of throwing myself down into the accumulated piles of lovely leaves with pleasure. And how exciting to see the change in the sun’s rays coming through the mostly bared treetops now!

  2. She leaves me again. The memory of the other times she has gone is open, fresh, as an ax’s many cuts felling sturdy Pines.

  3. My grandad was seriously against people ( read, children ) diving into crunchy piles of dead leaves. He would narrate horror stories of them concealing deadly snakes and deadlier scorpions. Till date , piles of dead leaves evoke pictures of fear . I have often stopped kids from playing in them , but now I hold my tongue , seeing how much fun they have .

    In fact , I nurture this secret desire to be able to dive into a pile of leaves myself , one of these days . I might produce some strange looks , and people might whisper behind my back , addressing me as _”that crackpot old lady , who thinks she is a child.”. I can imagine the look on people’s faces , when they say that.

  4. When your family’s abode was a rented apartment, or at this time of the planet, a condo – your memory of leaves in Fall is probably somewhat like mine. On the way to and from school I scuffled though those that fell on the sidewalks. I noticed but didn’t much take in changing colors. What I did notice later on was their absence. As the saying goes, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” That was very true in my case. The nakedness of tree and bush leaves as well as lifeless skeletons of yard plants contributed to winter’s bleakness. Memory of leaves, in my case, is pretty much confined to imagining and dreaming of their return. In other words, memory faded always to what will come. Bleakness, death and monochrome, given time and patience, yield to cheer, life and glorious green.

  5. It was a picture book Fall day, mid October in historic Kingston, NY. Our home at that time was big beautiful old Victorian designated in the City’s records of historical homes. My husband and I just finished bagging our 54th bag of leaves and were awaiting members of our family for a reunion. The crowd arrived and the adults were quickly catching up on family happenings. The children on the other hand were finding there own amusement . Hearing their gleeful shouts of delight I went to the front door….and what to my wondering eyes appeared…37 bags of leaves emptied upon the front lawn and 12 screaming kids jumping into the piles.

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