Barbara J. Hamby

Falling Leaves, Not

Wind has gone on strike. No nearby trees have been denuded yet. They wait for breezes to carry their leaves away.

Leaf-raking, leaf-blowing, leaf-burning season is extended to a longer career than usual. Noisy street sweepers run through our quiet neighborhood every few days.

Meanwhile, inside our cozy dwelling, we push furniture around here and there, rearranging to accommodate a few pieces Al’s mother left behind. Having some of her things around will remind us that a part of her remains with us.

It seems we can always find a space for another bookcase and a few more books. As hard as I try not to keep accumulating things, books have an allure that can’t be ignored.

As much as I believe in simplifying my life, old habits die hard. I am cleaning closets and will make a second trip to Goodwill with discards very soon.

But, much as the leaves cling to the trees, I cling to my books and keepsakes.