I woke up to the smell of leaves.
Drying leaves.
I may have imagined it.
I may have a distant memory that clouded my mind.
It is late September and there should be drying leaves.
Right?
If our memories feed our senses
then I smelled them.
Waiting now to feel the swirls of leaves around my feet.
My boots working through piles.
A rake poised and ready.
A whole day to enjoy the oranges and reds.
Raking the leaves
and coming inside to warmer temps.
Raking until you take your jacket off.
Raking until your arms hurt.
Raking until the big orange/red/brown piles are all around you.
And then the pushing
into the street for leaf pick up.
And the gathering of trails of leaves left behind.
Fall is a perfect time to visualize the painting of those colors.
A perfect time to reach back and grab the images.
A perfect time to paint.
