"How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow."
- Elsie N. Brady
I grew up across the street from a park. Or rather, I grew up in the park. We were there from early morning til dinner time most days during the Summer. Back then we had "Park Attendants", Teenagers hired to sort of babysit at the parks. They taught us stuff like boondoggle, weaving hot pads, making tiled pot holder's, Archery, and all sorts of cool stuff, we would ride our bikes to Pioneer Park, every Friday morning, to meet all the kids, from all the parks in town, to play games have sack lunches, then go swimming for a dime, all afternoon.
The last Friday of the Summer, before school started we would decorated our bikes and everyone would meet at the corner of Main Street and Forrest to have a bike parade.
The Teenager's would stop coming, but the park was far from empty. The leaves would begin to change and kids would show up with rakes. Raking HUGE piles of leaves, spend hours diving into them, until they were like the crumbs in the bottom of a potato chip bag. Then we would rake them into lines making houses out of them, with furniture and side walks, to play "neighbor's". Sometimes, a few of the parents would come help us rake the piles, crossing their hands over the handles of the rake, lean their chin's on top of them and watch us diving and tunneling, burying ourselves and each other. We would try to get them to join us, but they never did.
Who doesn't love a good pile of leaves?