Love of leaves falling
Pat, pat pat. He trod down the walk, feet rustling the leaves. He stopped to look up at the sky as a few sparce rain drops splatted him in the face. Hand out stretched, he turned slowly, then looked back and me and smiled slyly. Pat, pat pat, the wind ruffled his white blond hair as he cooed, brrrrrr, cold. He stooped and slowly, carefully bent down to admire a stick, turning it over in his chubby little hand, feeling it, examining it, tasting it. I watched in amusement his fascination with the mundane, it was inspiring really. Why couldn’t we all have such appreciation for the beauty that surrounds us, the sights, the smells, the sensations. He giggled and displayed a toothy grin as he shoved a handful of dirt into his mouth. We’ve learned… I suppose that’s the word for it… discovered that dirt tastes metallic, gritty, sticks are common, and rain… a nuisance. We know that rustling leaves will be there day after day, autumn come autumn. Or will they? I paused, breathing the cool air, listening to the polluting sound of the whirring leaf blowers as neighbors raced to eliminate every leaf before the rains turned them into a soggy, smothering mess. Perhaps if we appreciated the little things more, we could be more assured they would be there for the next little one to explore with wonderment. I turned back to my explorer and gave his big, squishy, muddy cheeks a giant smooch. He smiled, blue eyes twinkling. I grabbed him and we rolled in the leaves laughing. Lucky for me, his fascination, his joy was infectious.
