The color of fall. Slowly it creeps into Oregon. The leaves still cling to the trees and refuse to change color.
In Wisconsin, the trees changed quickly as did the weather. Leaves fell and snow was not too far behind. Bundled in warm coats, my children played in the leaves tossing them to the air just as I had as a child. Tossing them to the air without a care in the world.
In Ohio, Dad raked leaves into little rows making a leave house for me to play in until he was finished raking. A wise man knew who his daughter would get in his way if he didn't create a distraction. I played in the rooms jumping over the leaf walls. Dad's listened to my chatter and carried on a constant conversation with me.
What is it about leaves that make us want to walk, to jump into them? Is it the smell of fall? Is it the crunch they make when we moosh them beneath our feet? Is the the crispness in the air that says a new season is coming? Whatever it is, I love it.
I wonder if our kids and grandkids know that we still have that child residing inside of us who remembers crunching crisp leaves in our hands and rolling in the leaves. We still have that urge to scatter leaves carefully raked. We still have the same feelings we had a a child and always will. The oneness that is us when we are born does not go away. We still dream of adventure and retain the silliness that makes us good playmates for our grandkids.
I want to play in the leaves tossing them into the air. I want to feel the crisp clean air nip at my cheeks. I want once more to play in a house of leaves.