*Falling*

I can remember raking leaves as a little girl. I remember jumping off the porch wall into a big pile of crispy, musty leaves. I remember my dad loading the leaves into the wheelbarrow, letting me ride on top, and pushing it across the road to the river bank. I remember loving it.

I revisited this childhood memory with Sam last week. He ran through the leaves while I raked them into a pile. I showed him how to jump in. (I hit my tailbone on the cold ground. I got leaf crumbs in my shoes. I wondered why I remembered loving this.) Sam loved it. I loved watching him. He threw leaves on my head. And laughed. I loved it. (Despite the leaf crumbs down my shirt.)

I buried him in the leaves (as per his request), ran through the piles, threw leaves in the air, flew like an airplane. And when I'm gray and Sam is grown up, I will remember loving it. And so will he.

(Taken a few days earlier.

He was so excited about "cheeses":

running across the lawn, posing, running back, posing...)