Yggdrasil

It lay between, the only living thing

Fell leaves to all sides browning over stones-

Skin scarred with knifepoint mem’ries of young flings

And yet, with subtle strength, it stood alone.

The branch hung low and wide, the jutting bole

A well-ridged step of crevices for toes;

A hand-round branch, and up! Above the knoll:

More peaceful than those grass-worn shrouds below.

Somnolent may that rounded edge me keep

Safe from any ground’s claim to mortal shove;

Wind-child as I am, I could never sleep

Below the surface of the earth I love.

As I am living, earth’s enough for me

But in death, let my ash dust o’er a tree.

Leaf-raking

I raked leaves yesterday. It was Halloween, but I worked all morning. It felt very New Englandy- I don't think I've ever raked leaves before, not like that.

It was a warm, windy, perfect October day, and we built the leaves into heaping piles, more piles than I would have thought possible, given the amount of land we cleared. It was one of those futile tasks. We would have these beautiful piles, and then the wind would blow, and all the leaves would settle back on the ground, as near as they could. When that happened, John would curse into the wind, but I laughed. With or without the wind, our efforts were without real result; the yard looked the same once we had done, though we had removed pounds upon pounds of desiccated refuse to the woods. But I didn't mind the work, and I loved the weather, and (in this as in all things) we are paid by the hour.