The First Autumn

Do you remember your first autumn? I don’t mean the first one you lived through as a baby, but the first one you truly experienced. I remember mine. It was a single day. One that added vivid experience to my memories. Memories so ingrained into my mind that they’ve molded into a lens through which I now view the world. They shape my thoughts and guide my actions. Without them, my world would be a darker, more dreary place. With them, a warm glow floats within my heart, reminding me of the joy of living.

My first autumn was unique. Where I lived, the leaves changed colors, but they didn’t fall, at least not like you’d expect. Instead of gradually dropping, they’d stick stubbornly to their branches. To my young mind, that meant autumn had not yet come. After all, there is a reason autumn is also called fall. Of course, the day eventually came when the leaves finally yielded, and I do mean just one day. They stayed on the tree together, and they came down together, the heaping blanket of a new season.

I’d seen the movies where parents buried their kids in leaves, but that day was the first time I got to experience it. As the wind died down, my small town came alive. Dozens of children found their ways to the park. We collected the leaves by the armful until the piles were so high we couldn’t see over them. We jumped, we slid, and we played all day long, our only care in the world the size of our piles. Then the city workers came.

We were worried at first, these men had shown up with gas powered blowers to clean up our fun. But they never did their job. Instead, they joined us, even teaching the older kids how to use the blowers. It wasn’t long before every leaf in the park found its way into one massive pile. We finished as the sun set. The cold air started to pierce through our jackets, and our fingers went numb. We kept playing. Only when my fingers could scarcely move did I march back home with a stupid smile on my face.

When I arrived home, I opened the front door and felt the warm inviting air accompanied by the scent of meat and potatoes. For once, everyone in the house seemed happy. We sat around the table and ate while sharing our favorite memories of the day. I struggled to shovel potatoes into my mouth as my hands were still regaining function. My life wasn’t perfect, but that one day left a profound mark on me. It reminds me that, amidst the chaos, there are times of joy so valuable, they far outweigh my troubles.

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