Grownup Autumns

The leaves that fall, that sweep on through the hall landing on your doorsteps, solidified. There aren't that many, but still several. It's -annoying when they are blown inside. But it's great when you're a small child, knee-deep wading through them, kicking them to the sky, scooping them up in armfuls with a leap throwing them air-bound like a dragonfly— with a thousand wings, they hover cloud-like, suspend a second, and fall, tumbling down with an upside-down frown. What's to dislike about this autumn's seasonal ball gown? 'Guess I am older; get me a yard brush... I've no time for all this senseless—mush.'