Some of my earliest memories are of being out in the leaves with my grandmother, back when she still had both her feet and could take me out & about. She'd let me kick around in big piles of leaves, when I was so short that even a little pile would have me up to my knees. Even years after, when she was housebound and we didn't go walking together anymore, if I saw a beautiful leaf on the way home from school, I'd pick it up and bring it home for her. I'd clean off any grit or dirt, and she'd press it in the pages of her Friendship Book. Bright red maple leaves were her favourite. Like this one:
Her birthday was September 22, and every year, I celebrate both the changing of the season and her life with a little tea party.
I made a point this autumn of taking a few pictures. Now that I have a husband that takes amazing photos, I realized that I don't bother anymore. Often I just point and say "take a picture of that for me please", and he does, and it's great. But sometimes it's nice to have a little project, even if you know it's not going to turn out perfect.
There's something about seeing colour scattered all over the place like that - it makes me a bit giddy. It happens in the spring too, when the cherry blossoms are exploding. I'll walk down a petaled street and feel a bit high... like I've got kaleidoscope eyes. Frank laughs at me because I still kick along through piles of leaves and petals. Makes me happy.
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