Leafing you

I remember. The smell was brisk and moist in the chill backyard. The daylight was fast maturing and the last rays formed the twilight. We all joyously ran about in those brief minutes of illumination. Hot humid home left behind and the smells of soup on the stove and bread baking held a promising future. The moment was granted a temporal security. Safely we knew our present. The chill now could be basked in with such bright warmth later. As the piles of wet leaves were flung at rosy cheeks and puffy coats, and yells carried from the game of tag just a short distance, the breath burned in your throat refreshing and the laughter sincerely flowed. Fall trees warmed in the golden rays too high above our heads, wet grass lapped against our shoes, and children hid and sought in the moist wooden structures. When the parents yelled the dinner done we would all be soaked and chilled and happy for a reprieve. But, until then, maple clung to us in our slipping about the grass. "You're it! You're it!"