Thursday, or Thereabouts - October 11, 2018

The morning dawned heavy with humidity and an unseasonally warm temperature of 22°C (72°F). Ahh, but the wind was up too, the kind of wind that forewarns of a cold front on the doorstep. I watched in quiet reverie as leaves of red and gold danced and swirled their way to the ground. An old children's song came to mind, the one my mother taught me so long ago, the one for which she wrote out the words when my own children came along.

Today once again, I could hear Mom's clear soprano voice serenading me. Once again I glimpsed her twinkling blue eyes, full of delight. And once again sheer joy filled the room.

The fount of all knowledge, Google, led me to discover the original poem written by George Cooper (1840-1927), and later published in a primary school reader - McGuffey's Second Eclectic Reader - intended for grades 4 to 6. Wikipedia, (not always the fount of all truth), says that when it comes to sales, these Readers rank with the Bible and Webster's Dictionary with more than 120 million copies and growing. Apparently, McGuffey's books are still used in some private schools and homeschooling. Lesson 43, "The Wind and the Leaves" shows Cooper's poem in full:

THE WIND AND THE LEAVES. 

"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come o'er the meadows with me, and play;
Put on your dress of red and gold
Summer is gone, and the days grow cold." 

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew. 

"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long;
Little brook, sing us your farewell song,--
Say you are sorry to see us go;
Ah! you will miss us, right well we know. 

"Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade;
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?" 

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
Winter had called them, and they were content.
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.

I like to imagine Mom bursting through the door of 39 Garden Street in Thompsonville, Connecticut, screen door banging shut behind the little girl. I can hear the thump of her shoes on the wooden porch, before she bounds down the steps then off down the sidewalk, scuffing through the leaves and singing...

     Come little leaves, said the wind one day...

©2018 April Hoeller