All the Leaves are Brown

Fall is here in the North Country. While it was eighty-five(!?) here the other day, things have cooled to something approaching normal. There's a lot of leaves in the backyard and I've been sloshing through them to the car, wondering when I should make the pile for the boy. Katie took the initiative tonight (seriously, nothing fascinates Max more than somebody raking) and, almost instinctively, he jumped right into the pile.

By the time I got out there, Max was tottering half-way across the yard so he could get to top speed for leaf pile contact. Jumping (thankfully) is not really part of his skill set yet, so he pretty much just ran into the pile until the leaves slowed him to a stop. Whereupon he would slowly tip over into the rustling clatter. Then, like all leaf pile moments, he would lie there, listening to himself breathe; listening to the leaves settle beneath him; looking up at the sky; solving the problems of the world. Of course, the problem he was solving was something along the lines of "How will I convince the Big One to let me play in the car before my bath?" Tragically, numerous sorties into the pile didn't help him find the solution: the Big One took him right to the tub.