There is something very satisfying about raking leaves. I always absentmindedly find myself humming Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “This Shirt”, and repeating lines from “A Song of Sherwood” by Alfred Noyes (even if most of the poem is out of season right now).
Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold,
Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould,
Rake away the gold leaves, roll away the red,
And wake Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.
The pears and plums were the first to fall (only a hardy few hanging on), followed by the apples (half down to date). The larger cherry is turning yellow from the inside out, and falling oh-so-slowly. Only two or three have fallen so far from Osa’s Oak, though the colours are stunning.
