always the sweet

I've always had a fascination with autumn leaves. I can remember scampering around the school yard the year I was in grade two. We had been instructed to find as many different kinds of leaf as we could. It had something of the thrill of an Easter Egg Hunt about it, a sort of botanical version of I Spy.
My whole heart was in the search. I can still remember the excitement of pouncing on one leaf after another, clasping my treasures in warm little hands.
The leaves in Blue River never attained the size we have here on the rainy coast but we made up for that lack with colors rich.
It's the yellow that I miss.
Those glowing hillsides.
Quaking birch leaves the color of ripe pears.
Golden flakes, spinning and twirling and falling.
Robin's egg sky.
And always, the sweet wood smoke scented air.