There's three of them; the tallest one is in a mild
hurry as she turns with instinct to make
sure that the other two have reached the end of
the pedestrian crossing. She then disappears
through a set of automatic doors as the two
boys playfully weave their way through the large
leaves that Autumn has cast on the main street's
paved foot path.


The older boy is in charge now, although unlike the
woman, he seems to lack any concern for the other
boy straggling behind him. His main interest is to see
how many leaves he can stomp as he zig zags
towards the doorway that his mother has just passed
through. The little boy at the back of this tiny human
caravan is shoeless; he is wading through the dying
vegetation in the same way as he might slide his feet
across the sand of a beach or when enjoying his
toes being tickled by a stand of grass that is in 
need of a mow. The yellowing veined leaves intrigue
him, and he bends forward to swoop a couple into
his hand. Both boys are humming something; the older
sounds more like a crash-bash fire engine composer,
and the younger boy; his tune is almost soothing;
kind of a la la la la la refrain. I've passed them now,
on my way back through the sunshine to my car
parked across the road. Just before I go to cross
over, I look back at the youngest one; he now has
a large posie of Autumn leaves in his tiny hand which
he gazes on with swaying eyes and with the look an adult
might have if they'd just discovered love; perhaps it's
even similar to the look that I have as I recognise the
love in the pure innocence of the little boy's way of
seeing.