Happy Thanksgiving!

Here in Arizona, the leaves aren't really changing colors in time for Thanksgiving weekend, so we're relying on a little bit of fiction to round out our pre-feasting experience. This story excerpt comes from Issue #33, back in 2004.

"The Leaves, They Pirouette"

by Kevin Grauke

When ladies at the church ask you what you do - what you are - you say, "I'm a leaf blower," and you're happy saying this. You're happy being a leaf blower.

[...]

When you're out working, you like to listen to a tape that your mother made for you for Christmas. You have to turn it up loud to hear it over your Echo. The songs don't have words, but you know what they're about because your mother told you their names. One is called "Autumn Leaves." One is called "Autumn in New York." One is called "Autumn Serenade." One is called "Falling Leaves." Your favorite, though. is just called "Autumn." It's just a piano. It sounds exactly like leaves would sound if they made music when they fell. Plink. Plink, plink.

You know that Autumn and Fall mean the same thing, but you like Autumn better than Fall. It makes leaves sound prettier. You wait all year for Autumn. Autumn is like Christmas except there's no Santa for Autumn. Dead leaves tumble and float with every gust of wind. The ground crunches beneath your feet, and the air smells like smoke. Autumn is better than Christmas.

*

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!