It Was Pretty While It Lasted

This was the maple tree in our backyard, just one week ago.

It was crazy, riotous, gorgeous. While it was at peak color, it cast a reddish light into our sunroom. Every time I turned in that direction, I thanked the providential thinking of whoever decided to plant that tree in that spot, because it was framed so beautifully by our windows. Today ninety percent of those leaves are on the ground in big russet drifts, joined by the less spectacular oak leaves. Raking season is upon us.

This morning I realized that those pesky leaves can serve as a Toddler Exit Alert. I was upstairs making my bed. Hank was downstairs watching Dora (I thought), but in reality he was plotting his next move. I had my bedroom window open to air out the bedroom. I know it is chilly, but I like to do this--I learned it from that book Home Comforts. Anyway, suddenly I heard a sound like Sasquatch crashing through a thicket. I ran to the window and spied Hank trudging through leaves on his way to the sandbox and points beyond, wearing only a pajama shirt, a diaper, and Uggs. That stinker figured out how to open the back door, AND get around the baby gate on the back porch. He had even moved the gate back into place behind him. Luckily, the extraordinary crunching sounds gave away his departure.

We had a little talk about leaving the house without Mama. Like all of our little talks, I suspect it had no effect at all, though he cheerfully agreed to mend his ways. Maybe after the leaves are gone, I'll scatter tin cans all over the yard?