Roger Moroney: Raked up some words the other day

Roger Moroney. Photo/Duncan Brown

One Sunday afternoon about 15 years ago, when it was deep into autumn, I did a very bad thing.

It involved a rake and a sea of leaves which had fallen enthusiastically from the silver birch tree out the back.

Thirty or forty thousand pretty little mottled copper brown skydivers had made their flight, and now it was time for me to gather them all up and take them far away to their new home in the land of Greenwaste ... where they would be rounded up and sent to the village of Compost.

Now I have never minded getting the old leaf rake out at this time of year because it is like a salute to the seasons.

Another summer has turned into autumn and now it is laying the foundations to morph into winter.

That is fine and dandy, for our winters here on the eastern seaboard are not severe events (I reached out to stroke a slab of wood just after jotting that down) as the great mountains to the west and south soak up much of the South Island's most recognised export (cold).

So at the earlier going down of the sun of a hearty autumn afternoon it is sort of a rite of meteorological and gardening passage.

Dad made raking the yard an art form.

So did I once ... and this is where it sort of went wrong.

My son was about 10 and he'd run and skip about amidst the sea of leaves and kick them about or clutch together handfuls of them and let the poor cat have it.

So one time I decided to make him laugh.

I carefully raked lines across the surface ... lines which were letters, and the lush green grass underneath made them clear and bright.

I raked out the word "poos".

Yes it was infantile and pretty unimaginative but he did smile when he came out and saw it.

Although my expression was more one of horror when he had a crack at leaf art later when I went looking for the old wool fadge to dump it all in.

He'd added "wees" and was on to his next plunge into literary naughtiness when I took the rake off him.

"You started it," he said ... and I couldn't argue with that.

There was a time when we'd round up all the leaves and pile them up down the back and burn them.

Which worked, although regulations and common sense has pushed that removal approach into the history books.

So no more autumn fires. For while the air may be still and the voice inside you insists the smoke will spiral straight up a breeze will always arrive within minutes of the match being struck.

Yep, someone's got their washing out and it ends up possessing the odour of the fabric upholstery of a gentleman's club after the cigars emerge post-dinner.

There was also the occasion me and my son's efforts to burn the leafy skydivers (there was petrol involved) almost saw the nearby trellis go up.

Of course, I blamed the leaves and when one of the neighbours back then (who has since moved) looked over and asked if everything was all right my boy simply said: "Dad did it".

Put it this way, dad never did it again.

So it has come to pass once again that the leafy skydivers are taking to the air to ultimately make way for their offspring to arrive in just more than four and a bit months time.

That's not long, so I shall step up my leaf-raking endeavours accordingly.

Although, it has been pointed out to me that mowing/mulching the leaves is just as effective for they are shredded and will eventually dissolve into the grass and ground beneath.

Which is practical, but old habits die hard with old berks like me.

I want to rake something rude onto that sea of leafage.

Mmm, and while I was having a bit of a tidy-up in the garage yesterday I discovered there's still some petrol left after I filled the mower.

So with that inspiration in mind I shall set to this weekend to scribe the words ''don't even think about it'' into the grass.

Oh, and I'll add "poo-face" and giggle like a 5-year-old.