Those Autumn Leaves

His front yard was covered with leaves. Doubtless trying to achieve some sense of order, he was raking the leaves onto the sidewalk. The sidewalk was also covered with leaves. Not just covered. The leaves were perhaps a foot high on the sidewalk and in his yard. It was hard to imagine where they'd all come from. There just didn't seem to be that many bare branched trees around.
While he raked he sang a song of contentment and joy. As I approached, our eyes met. I stopped walking. He stopped raking. His smile was infectious. I smiled back.
"You know you want to jump in them," he said.
He wasn't asking me. He was telling me. I was caught.
"Maybe not jump in them," I managed to reply. "Maybe just walk through them."
He gestured for me to proceed.
"But halfway through if you feel like jumping, please don't hesitate."
Halfway through I did feel like jumping. I also felt like scattering them all over the yard and the sidewalk and the street. I felt like grabbing handfuls and throwing them into the air and standing perfectly still while they rained down on my head.
I neither jumped nor threw. I did, however, listen very carefully to sounds of raked leaves crunching under my feet.
On the other side of my leaf crossing, I turned to look at the man.
"You could have done a whole lot more," he said.
"There's always more we could have done."
"I suppose so," he said and returned to raking and to his quiet song of contentment.
Two complete strangers spent a few minutes on a Sunday afternoon enjoying the simplest of life's pleasures.