My childhood was pretty great all around.

The street I grew up on was lined with trees.  Big tall trees that shed piles upon piles of leaves every year in the fall.  The neighborhood kids would gather up gigantic piles to dive into, swim around in, get lost in.

My brother, being older than me, was a major ring-leader in the activities.  No matter what the season, he liked to head up the games.  Whether sledding in the winter, street hockey in the summer, he was in the thick of it.

Leaves was the one thing among these that I wanted to do more than anything.

How fun could that be?

The free fall with a cushioned landing.

I wanted to so much.

I never could.

I might have mentioned before that I had pretty severe allergies when I was young.

Among them were pollen, trees, tree sap, all that fun stuff.

Playing in the leaves gave me hives.  All over the place.

By the time I had grown up enough that my allergies lessened we were in a brand new neighborhood with baby trees.

Now my kids live in a house with a huge tree in the backyard that drops a ton of leaves.  They are never bright & colorful – but they are always plentiful.  Now it’s their turn – and I love watching them bury each other in the leaves and scramble through.  Even when my aware & very adult brain is protesting the dirt/bugs/need-baths-now…I love seeing the blatant joy at the simple pleasure of free falling into a pile of leaves.