All the leaves have turned to cornflakes.
It looks as if some giant's baby brother
had tipped the box
and scattered them upon our lawn-
millions and millions of cornflakes-
crunching, crunching under our feet.
When the wind blows,
they rattle against each other,
nervously chatting.
We rake them into piles-
Dad and I.
Piles and piles of cornflakes!
A breakfast for a whole family of giants!
We do not talk much as we rake-
a word here-a word there.
The leaves are never silent.
Inside the house my mother is packing
short sleeved shirts and faded bathing suits-
rubber clogs and flippers-
in a box marked SUMMER.
We are raking,
Dad and I.
Raking, raking.
The sky is blue, then orange then grey.
My arms are tired.
I am dreaming of the box marked Summer
-"October Sunday" by Bobbi Katz


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