The Changing Color of Fall

FallThe fall is so beautiful and one of my favorite times of the year. Here in California, the leaves do change color but nothing like the gorgeous hues in Ohio. Watching the leaves skip across the street as I pulled into my neighborhood, took me back a few years.

Living just four doors from St. Mary’s church and school, I walked home for lunch everyday.

The air was crisp, the sky was bright blue with lazy billowing white clouds that drifted in the breeze. The huge Maple trees that lined the pathway to my house, had turned their leaves from green to a brilliant orange and yellow. The soft wind caught the branches and coaxed them to drift to the ground. Running along the sidewalk and stepping on them became a game. (The flapping sole of my shoe did slow me down a little.)

“Mother I’m hungry.” The old wood storm door slammed behind me. Lassie my dog came running up and licked my face. The old farmhouse was quite, but I could smell freshly baked bread.

Mother was not feeling well and had gone back to bed.  I grabbed a thick slice of the still warm bread from the stovetop, checked on mother while she slept, and headed back to school.

Piles of leaves had been raked to the edge of each driveway to meet the street. There would be bonfires later this afternoon and all the kids would have marshmallows stuck on the end of a stick to roast.

Looking back on those wonderful childhood days of St. Mary’s, Grampa’s little farmhouse and of course, my Butternut Tree that grew on the edge of our creek, I was happy. Life was certainly not the stable home my friends grew up in, but it was the simple things that I loved.  In the autumn, it was the beautiful foliage, fluffy clouds and the promise of rain when falling asleep. I learned at a very young age to not accept anything negative but instead to find something—no matter how seemingly insignificant—to be happy about.




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