November 6, 2020
On Fridays, I sometimes drive my youngest son to his dad’s house. It’s a 45-minute drive one way, and other than the captive company of children in a car, it’s not usually particularly remarkable. We left midmorning to attempt to avoid disrupting the baby’s nap schedule too much. We made a pitstop to the store for some snacks for him, and supplies for the house. The roads were pretty clear and the skies were, too.
I dropped him off and headed home. I was mere moments away from their house when I noticed a sight I hadn’t witnessed on the way up the hill. The descent took us through a tunnel of multicolored leaves hanging on for dear life to gnarled branches. The sensation was not unlike one of those kid-sized burrowing tunnels. As I write this, I’m wondering if those still exist? They were something like flexible plastic dryer vents, but about two feet across with designs on the outside and “air holes” strategically placed throughout.
I wish I had taken a picture, but I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t think of it until much later.