The Feel Good Way

Learning to Walk in Autumn

My grandson — the love of my life — not yet 2, came over for a visit today. Whenever he’s here, the forest around my home feels different. I notice things I usually overlook, watching more carefully, as if his curiosity helps me rediscover the place I thought I already knew..

We decide to go for a walk, just the two of us — or at least, that’s what I tell myself. In truth, I stand corrected: he is the one deciding what we do. After all, I’m the granny, here to follow this king‘s lead and serve his small adventures.

Autumn has already wrapped itself around the forest: the air is crisp, the light soft, and the fallen leaves lie in thick golden layers along the sides of the road. This is my favourite season — one I’ve been longing for all these months, watching the days slowly shift and waiting for this familiar, comforting change to return. For him, it’s still a mystery — and today, I get to teach him how to walk in autumn.

At first, he’s hesitant. He steps carefully, almost suspicious of the golden things scattered all around. Whenever a leaf dares to stick to his rubber boots, he immediately bends down and peels them off, one by one, determined to keep himself clear of this strange new world.

I show him how to do it properly: how to kick through the piles of leaves, how they rise in the air like tiny pieces of sunlight. I make an exaggerated swing with my foot, leaves flying in all directions.

He imitates me — reluctantly.
Small steps.
Small movements.
A gentle tap against the leaves instead of a kick.

But slowly, slowly, he begins to understand. The sound, the movement, the joy of it. We kick the leaves onto the road and watch them scatter, and something clicks inside him.

Suddenly, he sits down right in the middle of the road, on a soft bed of leaves. First sitting, then lying down flat, arms spread wide. He looks up at the sky and laughs — one of those pure, ringing laughs that only children can make.

Then I hear a car coming. He hears it too. Without panic, without me having to tell him, he stands up and calmly walks to the side of the road. He waits. Watches. The car passes, and the leaves swirl wildly in its wake. We look at each other and burst out laughing.

We continue our walk.
He kicks again. A little harder this time.
And again. Leaves scatter. He giggles.
He’s learning.

Today, my grandson learned how to walk in autumn.
And I — I got to watch him fall in love with the season the way I once did, one crunchy, golden step at a time.

If this isn’t a delight…?

Image is AI generated