I grew up thinking that in the fall, it was good to rake up all the leaves, bag them, and take them to the landfill, leaving a tidy green lawn. I understood the aesthetic of that green lawn. The greenness was pleasing to the eye, and the tidiness was as well.
It was only later that I realized there is another aesthetic—an alternative to this one—that allows the leaves to be left alone, or to be raked up into mulch for flowerbeds, or gathered into a compost pile. I came to see that this was, in fact, much better for life within and beyond the leaves. It lets leaves do their thing—decompose, shelter, feed, and quietly give back to the world that nourished them. It was a loving act to leave the leaves. And in its own way, it had a different kind of beauty: organic, vital, and sacred.
This realization helped me appreciate the Leave the Leaves movement, which is so powerful today. As a process theologian who believes in a spirit of love at work throughout the universe, I now see that loving life in this way—by leaving the leaves—and being responsive to the spirit of love are really two sides of one coin.
To use the language of conservative Christians, it is God’s will to leave the leaves. I’m not entirely comfortable with this way of putting it, because it separates God too sharply from the pulses of life. But I don’t mind others using it. What matters most is to recognize that loving life and loving the spirit that courses through life, yet is more than life on earth, are one and the same love.
That is why, this fall, I’m leaving the leaves.
- Jay McDaniel
Five Tips on Leaving the Fall Leaves
Interview with David Mizejewski on Leaving the Leaves
David Mizejewski is an American naturalist, author, and television personality who serves as a spokesperson and wildlife expert for the National Wildlife Federation. A graduate of Emory University with a degree in Human and Natural Ecology, he is known for making science and conservation engaging and accessible to the public. He has hosted programs on Nat Geo WILD and Animal Planet and appeared on shows like Today, Conan, and Good Morning America. Mizejewski is the author of Attracting Birds, Butterflies & Other Backyard Wildlife, and is widely admired for his ability to inspire people to protect and restore nature in their own backyards and communities.
Who Really Needs the Leaves?
"If you want to see more nature in your yard—fireflies, butterflies, native bees, and more—then you’ll want to give them a place to live. Fallen leaves are one of the most important habitats in your yard.
Bumblebees burrow into them.
Butterfly and moth caterpillars cocoon inside them.
Fireflies hide and lay eggs beneath them.
Toads and salamanders tuck into the damp leaf layer for shelter and moisture.
Songbirds like robins and thrushes forage through it for insects and larvae to eat.
Every fallen leaf helps keep your yard alive. It’s not just about insects. Those same leaves return nutrients to your soil and feed your trees, completing a natural cycle that modern cleanup often interrupts."
Five Reasons to Leave the Leaves (Short Summary)
They nourish the soil. As leaves decompose, they release nutrients that feed the soil and support healthy plant growth. How to do it: Chop them with a mulching mower and let them break down naturally on your lawn or garden beds.
They provide wildlife habitat. Leaf litter offers shelter for butterflies, bees, toads, and other small creatures during the winter months. How to do it: Rake leaves under shrubs or into garden corners to create safe, undisturbed areas for wildlife.
They improve soil structure and moisture. Decomposing leaves add organic matter, helping soil retain water and breathe better. How to do it: Let a pile of leaves decompose into “leaf mold” and use it as a soil amendment.
They reduce waste and pollution. Bagged leaves sent to landfills produce methane, a potent greenhouse gas. How to do it: Compost your leaves at home or participate in a community composting program.
They save time and energy. Leaving the leaves means less raking, bagging, and hauling—saving effort while benefiting the planet. How to do it: Mulch or compost in place, or share extra leaves with neighbors or schools for their gardens.
Fallen Leaf Ontology
a Whiteheadian perspective for the philosophically inclined
Dead leaves are alive with energy and possibility for the future. As David Mizejewski of the National Wildlife Federation explains, “The fallen leaf layer isn’t dead—it’s full of life! Wildlife like butterflies, bumble bees, fireflies, and salamanders depend on the leaf layer. When you throw out your leaves in a yard waste bag, you could be throwing away up to half of your springtime butterflies.” In terms of process theology, the leaves may be “dead” in one sense, but they are objectively immortal in their capacities to support new life. They carry forward the energy, form, and relational potential of what they once were. Using Whitehead’s language, the fallen leaves are superjects—outcomes of past actualities that continue to shape the becoming of the future.
They function locally as societies of life and nourishment. In Whitehead’s metaphysics, a society is a collection of interrelated actual entities bound together by shared patterns and purposes. Fallen leaves form such societies in the microcosm of the backyard or forest floor. They become habitats that offer food, water, cover, and breeding spaces for countless forms of wildlife—birds, insects, amphibians, fungi, and microbes. Each decomposing leaf participates in a local web of relations that sustains the ongoing process of life, turning ordinary yards into vibrant ecosystems.
They participate in the creative advance of nature. In process terms, decomposition is not mere decay but a creative transformation. As leaves break down, they release nutrients, enrich the soil, and sustain new growth. The apparent “death” of the leaves is actually part of the universe’s rhythmic pattern of perishing and renewal—one moment perishing into another’s becoming. The “leave the leaves” initiative honors this ongoing creative advance, recognizing that the world is renewed not by domination but by the humble work of transformation.
They embody relational rather than coercive power. Fallen leaves nurture life without control or force. Their power lies in relationship—in their capacity to support earthworms, fungi, and microbes, which in turn support plants, pollinators, and animals. This gentle, sustaining form of influence mirrors what process theologians call persuasive power: the power of love, cooperation, and mutual becoming. The leaf layer is thus a living parable of divine relationality—an ecological expression of the kind of power that heals rather than harms.
They invite us into ecological companionship. To leave the leaves is to acknowledge that humans are participants, not masters, in the community of life. It is an act of humility and solidarity with the Earth’s smallest creatures. In process-theological terms, it is a way of cooperating with God’s lure toward harmony and intensity of experience, aligning our choices with the deeper rhythms of creative interdependence. By leaving the leaves, we practice companionship with the more-than-human world and affirm that the divine is at work in every humble process of renewal.