As I continue to watch the leaves drop from the trees, I’m reminded of a book given to me by our neighbor and my sisters’ God-mother, Margaret Keating, when I was 16 years old. Printed in 1903, it contained hundreds of Haiku and assorted short stories.
A few years later, it disappeared, stolen by former landlord. Anyway, one story I remember was about ‘raking leaves,’ and though I can only paraphrase the original story, it went something like this:
A young student was in charge of a garden, where he meticulously raked up all the dry autumn leaves. As he worked, his teacher watched him with interest.
When he finished, the student stood back to admire his work, calling out to his teacher, “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Almost,” replied the teacher.
The student watched as his teacher walked to the tree, grabbed its trunk and shook it, showering leaves all over the once raked garden. The teacher then walked back to where the student stood, unable to speak and said, “Now, it’s beautiful.”
With leaves scattered around our backyard, I told Mary the story. She then brought me back to reality.
“Nice story,” she smiled as she handed me a rake.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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