I was out walking today when I stumbled upon a patch of leaves so perfectly arranged it reminded me of France—just the shape, mind you, not the location. It must be autumn, I thought, and something about that blanket of crisp foliage stirred a childlike excitement in me. There’s a certain thrill to a ground covered in leaves. You can stomp through them with abandon, kicking up color and chaos. And, of course, you can play the timeless game: “shit or no shit.” Every step is a gamble, every crunch a mystery. It’s messy, ridiculous, and oddly satisfying.
There’s something magical about autumn’s mess. The leaves fall without permission, covering everything in a patchwork of decay and beauty. It’s nature’s confetti, and I can’t help but celebrate it. I walk slower this time of year, just to savor the sound of leaves underfoot. It’s a sensory delight—sight, sound, smell, even the occasional surprise. Yes, the game is real. You never know what’s lurking beneath that golden carpet. But that’s part of the fun. It’s the season of risk and reward, wrapped in rust and amber.
I’ve always loved the way autumn invites playfulness. It’s not just about pumpkin spice and cozy sweaters—it’s about letting go. The trees do it, so why shouldn’t we? I find myself more spontaneous in fall, more willing to wander, to explore, to laugh at the absurd. Today’s leaf pile reminded me of that. It looked like a map, a puzzle, a dare. And I took it. I stomped through like a kid, not caring who saw. Because sometimes, joy is found in the crunch of uncertainty.
Of course, there’s always the risk. One wrong step and you’re ankle-deep in something you’d rather not name. But isn’t that life? You take chances, you get messy, you laugh, you learn. Autumn teaches that in the most tactile way. It’s not sanitized or predictable—it’s wild and wonderful. And today, I embraced it. I didn’t just walk through the leaves—I danced. I kicked. I played. And yes, I may have lost a sock to the game. But I gained a story.
I wish I’d taken a photo of that leaf formation. It really did resemble France, in the most accidental way. But maybe it’s better that I didn’t. Some moments are meant to be lived, not captured. I’ll remember the shape, the crunch, the laughter. I’ll remember the absurdity of wondering what lies beneath. And I’ll remember that joy doesn’t always come in tidy packages. Sometimes, it’s scattered across the ground, waiting to be kicked into the air.
So here’s to autumn. To leaf piles and silly games. To the thrill of not knowing. To the freedom of stomping through nature’s mess with reckless delight. And to the quiet hope that beneath all the layers, there’s something worth stepping into—even if it’s just a laugh.
