Dry Leaves

There is something magical about the feel of dry leaves under one’s feet. The crackle and crunch still delights me. I first discovered the magic of crackling leaves in the Yakima Valley, while I was dating Kevin. The magic of the leaves somehow mingling with the magic of being totally, completely head over heels in love.

Having grown up near the Washington Coast, where rain is an assumption rather than an event, I had never experienced the sound of leaves crunching under my shoes as a child. Leaves did not crunch there. They wilted, and sogged. I had read about fall leaves crunching underfoot, but had never been able to produce the sound, in spite of trying many times.

So now I walk down the streets, with brown leaves littering the edges and the gutters, and try to surreptitiously step on promising looking clusters or larger leaves. Trying to step on them, to hear that cheerful sound, but of course, wanting very much to not LOOK like I am trying to step on them. Best of all, holding hands with Kevin while the leaves crackle underfoot. And I am still totally, and completely, head over heels in love.