The leaves behave differently up here in Minnesota. They are bigger. And more of them. And, as I learned the hard way, they gang up on you.
Yesterday, we cranked up the lawn mower, set it on mulch and cleared up the yard. Today, we have to do it all over again. I'm not from here. Had I looked up, I would have noticed the trees were still half full. Overnight, they got their silly revenge. Today, the trees are nearly naked and the yard needs mulching. Again.
Actually, it has been fun watching the show from the front porch.
A couple of weeks ago, we took down the awning and screen porch in anticipation of the snows that are in our destiny. But the sunsets still beckoned. So we bought two fire extinguishers and moved the fire pit to the front porch. If you're good at spatial concepts, you build the scene so the fire warms your feet and knees yet the wine stays perfectly chilled just a few inches further away. Hint: buy those mittens that let your fingers out.
The front porch is more exposed with the screens down. And no one else in the neighborhood has their fire pit out front. Sure, we get some looks, but mostly grins. We love it.
The porch is where I’ve been privy to the secret lives of leaves. Just watching them skitter down the street makes you feel good. Leaves can be fickle. Yesterday, they flew north up the street. Today, they were all coming back. And bringing their girlfriends.
They ride the wind in different ways. Most fly stem first as the mode of choice. But some spin and spin all the way down just from the joy of the trip. And most of the next door leaves' flight plans end in our yard. The more clever leaves have learned how to catch a thermal rising from the paved street. They float forever.
The Mystery Woman is happy that we’ve extended the season for porch living. Me, too.