Why would a notorious lazy man feel such a joy in his heart watching a phenomenon that entails work?
When I fell to the ground
you walked all over me
even though I shaded you…
was it just yesterday?
Now you are going to rake me,
toss me in a bag
as if I'm some kind of monster
you need to eject.
Why don't you leave me be;
by springtime you will
never even know I was here .
What Lady Janice puts in poetry, Andrew Scott puts prosaic: [...] some people not too far away from me seem to regard every fallen leaf as a disgraceful piece of filth, to be tidied away as soon as possible. They are out every morning, frantically scooping up all the leaves and casting disapproving glances at the coppery golden carpet adorning my lawn.
And right both they are. Some people would overdo, acting like maniacs for housework or, in this case, maniacs for raking leaves.
Well, I am raking leaves, too ... and give them another job:
Seanhenge's chief-protectors of shrubs, trees, roses etc.; and after they have done a great job during winter, they get their deserved long rest, long enough to convert into young, strong and fresh humus.
And thus the cycle of life goes on ...