When I go out into the back yard and see the leaves in the grass, I think about the glorious days of early fall as a child, when my father would rake giant piles of leaves in the yard, and sometimes we would move one of the piles near the swingset and swing high and higher and then jump into the piles. I remember the crunch and the smell of the leaves, and the layers of clothes and the bite of the cold air and wearing a hat and collecting chestnuts all along the street one over from our own.
I would like a walk in the woods, to shuffle through the leaves. Perhaps someday. Soon?