Zen and the Art of Raking Leaves

Dear You,

The sun must be shining, even if it's just a little. That's quite necessary. And it is even better if the air is moving a bit -- perhaps a gentle breeze, but nothing more.

Dress warmly, but not overly so. A light jacket should do it, something that when the time comes can be easily removed and hung nearby. Wear a cap.

Do you have portable music? In my case, it's a little MP3 player. Load it with soothing music -- not Rock, oh, goodness no. You'll be worked up enough without all that blood-pumping sound going through your head. I like Rod Stewart, Linda Ronstadt, and Cher singing those old romantic songs -- "Cry Me a River" and "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" and "As Time Goes By." Yearning and pathos, yes?

By all means use nothing that plugs into an outlet or requires gasoline. That should be obvious. Above the music all you want to hear is the sounds of cars passing by and the rasping of the rake. Don't move too quickly. Rake leaves into a mound, spread the tarp nearby, rake the leaves onto it, drag it to the curb.

Repeat. "Do it again, yes, do it again" sings Linda. And don't worry if more leaves are falling onto the areas you are clearing. It is what it is.

Perhaps Four Ages, not Seven, of Man

Dear You,

Most of the year, a turn of the calendar page has no noticeable effect on the weather. Not so for September. Yesterday, as in the past, I was taken aback when, on arising, I heard crows at my feeder instead of the lesser birds, and I heard a distinct rustle of leaves, as if they were impatient for that time when they would change color and fall onto the lawn. Sure enough, when I walked out for the newspaper, the light and the air were filled with Autumn. It was a bit chilly to take my coffee to the patio table. Overnight, Summer had slipped away.

Winter will announce itself at any time. Somewhere between late October and Christmas, my mother used to look out and announce, "Well, it's spittin' snow" and we boys would go to the window to watch the first flakes. Spring makes tentative steps -- a balmy day in March will give way to another blizzard just as soon as allow the appearance of the first shoots of flowers. As for Summer, the end of the school year is the only real demarcation I've been able to decide on, whatever the calendar says.

Do you, too, detect that moment when it really is Fall? Or might this be just because I have reached "a certain age" and have grown hypersensitive to that which signals the end of things? If the stages of life are seasons, then I have certainly reached Autumn. And, yes, it did seem to have happened overnight.