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  • Writer's pictureA is for Agape

His Time Is Perfect

He appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down. (Psalms 104:19 KJV)

I’m raking up the fallen leaves one last time.  There is a snow prediction for this weekend and I want to make sure that the grass is cleared.  I asked the kids to help me pick up the piles of newly raked crispy leaves.  My son held the rake in his hands, moved it from side to side.  Then they decide it would be more fun to toss the leaves high into the air. The pretty piles I make look tempting, they jump into them, sending a colorful spray in all directions, leaving me to rake them back into neat mounds.

The front yard has long ago been raked of every last leaf.  The one tree that stands sentry can be marked on the calendar, yellowing and dropping before the ghosts and goblins have walked the streets.  But the back yard takes its time.  Each Aspen has its own chronology.  From the living room sofa I can watch first one then another change from palest gold to amber to brown.  Each one dropping leaves in sequence.

Since they choose their own agenda, we choose ours.  We wait till all the leaves have come down, until the yard is covered in color.  The kids run and jump, crackling through the fallen flora.  When the ground is fully covered we wait some more.  Now that the time has come, the inevitable farewell, I can still see a few lingering fronds.  Even as I churn through the musty smell of decaying leaves, I long to put off this year-end ritual.  The weather man has spoken, there is snow on the way.  I look up at those last few leaves and continue raking.

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