Our Grandfather's Yard

Lying on the cool green grass, looking up through the branches of the towering sugar maple trees, we were surrounded by the unmistakable fragrance of autumn. They were stately giants, adorned with flaming reds, burnt sienna, vibrant yellows and oranges. We watched, my sister and I, as the leaves fell, one by one...drifting and swirling...taken by a gentle breeze and sailing magically, down, down. We tried to catch these dancing beauties, only to have them flit and flutter above our heads, then be whisked away by the breath of fall. Out of our reach, we could almost hear them laughing as they eluded us...making their final journey to the earth. The lush yard was soon transformed into a radiant carpet of fallen jewels. We sprung to our feet and leapt from one leaf to another. Each snap and crackle beneath our shoes echoed in the otherwise peaceful silence of the country. We knew that this would only last for a season, and soon the cold winds would arrive, scattering our treasured leaves. The blankets of winter would come to tuck them in, ever so deeply, until they would mysteriously vanish. Never again would they display their hues in all their splendor. Even still, we played as carefree children, in the utopia of our Grandfather's yard. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (This was written from my memories as a child in our Grandpa Kalisiewicz's yard, just next door, along with my best childhood buddy...my little sister.)