Leaves

My childhood home was on a large lot with great big trees. In the fall, all the kids in the neighborhood would come over and play in the leaves. We would rake mazes and then chase each other though them. We would outline elaborate houses with many rooms. We would make huge piles that reached the lower branches of the trees and then climb the trees and jump, becoming buried in scratchy, soft leaves. I don't remember actually helping get rid of those leaves, but I probably did.
Then I grew up, got married, moved around some, and my husband and I bought a home and planted our own trees. It took many years, but now our maple trees are finally big enough to fill the yard with leaves. It's not the same. The grandkids enjoy them, but not often. Larry spends countless hours filling countless bags so we can donate them to my sister's compost heap. Its hard work.
The magic is gone, but like wood smoke in autumn, the memories live on.