This is how we do our autumn walks: A, always looking up, watching light filter through the canopy. Me, always looking down, keeping my eyes peeled for the perfect red leaf. And now F, this time asleep against A in the carrier.
The new yellow, seeing wild turkeys, balancing on a log. Thinking: Diaphanous. and then: the diaphanous gown of fall's canopy, the arch of a fallen knobby limb that acts as drawbridge between this beckoning color and a girl who never liked to walk alone.
Other sentences; we traded turns making them up, and I don't remember them all now.
But I will remember the eyes of this sleepy boy just waking up to the yellow all around him for the very first time.