My sweet Jack gives me flowers all year long. At the bus stop yesterday, he handed me 18 beautiful leaves. . .
. . .yellow, speckled with bits of green . . .
drying leaves, from the neighbor's tree down the street. . . blown so casually up the road, whispering the coming of autumn. . .
When the flowers of summer disappear, he gives me handfuls of leaves. I love them all. Brown and crunchy. . . and green. . . yellow. . . and soon, oranges and reds. . .
They bring back memories of jumping in those huge piles raked under the neighbor's giant maples. . . the sweet smells of fall. . . burying myself under their fragrance, and peeking at the patches of blue sky. . .
Favorite memories. . .
18 beautiful leaves.
And one retrieved from his pocket the day before. He handed it to me as he came bounding off the bus.
A yellow maple leaf. Small veins of green. Still soft in my palm. . .
I imagine he found it outside at recess. And he carefully put it away in his pocket, the keeper of all little boy treasures. . . Thinking of his Mama. . . in the midst of his recess adventures. . .