Laughter from beneath the leaves

It is fall. Autumn has always been my favorite season. The leaves on the trees turn a rich warm orange, red and yellow and spiral down to the earth below. I love walking through piles of leaves that have blown over a sidewalk. I love walking underneath trees while the leaves fall. I love the smell of the damp leaves, and feeling the mist on my face. I love wrapping myself up in a sweater or an extra blanket to keep cozy and keep the cold out. 

When I was younger my parents would buy the bright orange leaves bags with black carved pumpkin faces printed on them. On a nice Saturday afternoon my brother and I, along with help from our parents, would rake the leaves and fill the bags. Of course we would rake all the leaves into giant piles in the front yard and instead of filling the bags we'd run through the leaves, or jump into the pile. I remember throwing bunches of leaves up over my head and sitting amongst the leaves.

There are pictures, in a photo album, of my brother and I playing in the leaves. When I look at those pictures, they are memorized in my head, I can hear the laughter of my brother. The small laughter of a four year old boy echos in my mind and all I can do is smile. 

So autumn, the season of change, the change from growing, and new life into a period of quiet death and wait, is my favorite. It is a season of transition. It is a time of year while looking at the multicolored leaves when I remember long walks in the woods with my brother and father, it is the time of year when I remember stacking wood in piles with my Great Uncle, while my brother tried to help, it is the time of year when I remember the laughter of raking leaves with my little brother.