They met in the middle of the large backyard. She turned off the leaf blower as he leaned against the rake, running his forearm over a sweaty brow.
“We need to chop down all these trees," she groaned, dropping the blower wearily to the ground.
“You don't mean that.”
“Maybe not,” she sighed, “but I can definitely think of better ways to spend a beautiful weekend.”
“But now the real fun begins,” he smiled.
“What fun would that be? The part where we spend hours stuffing all these leaves into garden bags?”
Tossing down his rake, he walked around the huge mound, took her hand and pulled her across the yard.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, just threw her over his shoulder and ran like a madman toward the pile of leaves as she squealed in protest. At the last moment he tossed her, then dove in himself. They bounced once into the soft cushion before the explosion of leaves settled, burying them in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Laughing, he pulled her against him, giving her a warm, lingering kiss, the smell of earth and autumn and sweat and sweetness wafting around them.
“We should plant more trees,” she murmured, drawing him closer.