Thanks to Alistair for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction. If you’d like to join in, visit here.
When I was little, it was our chore to rake the leaves into a big pile, which we then jumped in and scrambled again. I still remember the smell of the dry leaves or how the ones at the bottom, damp, would stick together and that smell of moldering. Or how, when it seemed we were done, the winds would come and wine-colored maple leaves would rain down upon us.
Today the leaf blowers are out, their engines throbbing like a revving Harley. The kids are indoors plastered to their electronics.
Fun isn’t simple anymore.