In praise of working with wet leaves

Poets might prefer them crisp and dry, autumn leaves that flutter and fly.

But those of us who rake them up know better. Wet leaves are a gift.

I don’t have to tell you. They clump and congeal as each rake stroke clears a wide swath.

Dry leaves can be untamed broncos scattering here and there. Damp leaves work with you. Wet leaves seem to say “I’m ready.”