When walking down the street I can’t help but do the Leaf Hop. Sometimes this is a solitary dance, but every now and then the leaves take an active part in the twists and twirls creating an autumn ballet. The pursuit of a brightly colored, crispy leaf as it floats tauntingly down the sidewalk is irresistible. To catch the quarry in a single satisfying crunch gives me delightful shivers.
The meandering skip and hop that inevitably accompanies a walk among leaves is unnoticed when I’m by myself. The other day, my new friend Jaysen and I went on a walk through the neighborhood. I realized half-way down the block that I was selfishly crunching all the leaves. In an attempt to mend my manners, I made an effort to avoid the next beautiful leaf we encountered. I willed my legs to walk in a straight line and the feet reluctantly followed. To my surprise, as we approached the leaf, Jaysen did not alter his stride at all. In my opinion, the steps leading up to a good leaf stomp are important, but I can understand other people may have differing techniques. I waited in curious anticipation to see how he would tackle his leaf, but we walked right on by without even an attempt to capture the crunch!!! Knowing that perhaps the best leaf of the walk had been missed, I had to run back and hop. I landed with the leaf squarely beneath both feet. “A perfect 10,” crunched the leaf.
I rejoined my friend. “Your scampering makes for difficult conversation,” he said. It was hard to gauge whether he was annoyed or amused, but I resolved to give him my undivided attention for the rest of the walk. Ignoring the beckoning calls of my ballet partners, I made it to the corner and across the crosswalk. But when we turned down the next street, an orange-red maple leaf, with perfectly dried coiled edges stood alone in the center of the sidewalk. Giving me a bow, the leaf asked in a deep mischievous voice, “May I have this dance?”
