Easy enough to commit to memory, I've carried the words with me, bringing them out especially during the two seasons of which they speak: spring and autumn. It is autumn that I write about today and the words and thoughts that always made this season the most romantic and idyllic for me of the four.
As a youngster, autumn brought glasses of cider, mugs of hot chocolate, and as a grand finale, a bonfire. Back then, my father and grandfather would rake the leaves that carpeted our adjoining lawns, and we kids would help to take the mounds of colorful swatches to the roadside where we piled them high and long. A wheel barrow sufficed for this purpose, and the many trips hardly seemed like work to my brother and me who made a game of it, with many trips culminating in exalted jumps into the soft bed of brilliant plant material.
In that era, burning in town was not a problem. The bonfire was quite a orchestrated affair. We gathered buckeyes to throw into the fire, after, of course, we had roasted our hotdogs on sticks on the self-same fire. Big, toasty marshmallows were a requisite, which we happily nibbled at while we pitched one buckeye at a time into the smoking pile. The buckeyes made a small popping sound as the fire consumed them; big entertainment for us. Dad and Grandpa stood watch over the fire and over us, and by time the pile was reduced to a smoking hulk, we kids were back in the house, leaving the work to the grownups.
Even as an adult I have watched out my window, noting the changing colors and contours of the trees that line the streets. As the wind catches the leaves, I try to follow one at a time on its route to the ground and the act of doing so makes me wistful and almost somber. I'm aware that I am witnessing one of Nature's most reliable rituals and I am awed by the spectacle; those leaves, those beautiful, changing leaves that cover the ground and change the green carpet to tones of reds, oranges, and browns. Mother Nature is truly awesome.
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