Autumn evening

Kicking my way through the leaves on my driveway, cracking acorns (there are plenty of 'em this year) and crushing the brown carpet underfoot -
The red and orange and bright yellow leaves have yet to come full-color and drop.
But it's not the color.
It's the smell.
Dry, nutty leaves.
Good dirt.
Bark and shrubs and ground cover bathed in glorious earthy perfume.
And it smells like walking home in the third grade, pushing the leaves ahead of us making trails that would soon be covered up by more falling leaves.
It smells like great piles of leaves raked by Mother and Daddy, just so we could run and jump, and run and jump again.
Forget snow angels. We had Autumn leaves angels.
It smells like the smoky fires we used to have in the backyard (no longer allowed).
It smells like vague excitement, knowing that soon it will be Thanksgiving.
And then, and then! Christmas.
But not yet.
It smells like a sixth grade project on Rome, or memorizing a Longfellow poem in the fourth grade.
It smells like dinner waiting - maybe fried chicken, or pot pie.
It's an elementary school smell.
A smell that all things are possible.
And I have a warm, loving place to be in the thick of a golden autumn evening.

Not a poem. Just thoughts that hit me as I worked my way to the front door. Thank you Mother, Daddy, Billy, David, and Cindy for a loving memorable childhood, a happy autumn family.