When autumn winds strip bare the trees,

And red and gold leaves fall,

We rake them up into a pile

As high as I am tall.

Dad tells me then, “Son, jump right in!”

I run, I launch, I dive,

Crunching down into the pile,

Just glad to be alive.

I come up grinning ear to ear.

“It’s your turn, Dad,” I giggle.

“I’m way too old”—he shakes his head—

“My bones are much too brittle.”

But then he says, “Oh well, why not?”

And plops into the pile.

I laugh and jump on top of him—

We wrestle for a while.

Watching from the living room,

Mom shakes her head and smiles.

Dad pulls me up; again we rake

The leaves into a pile.

I know pile jumping’s silly—

Not much of a game at all—

But jumping piles is what I love

When red and gold leaves fall.

Illustrated by Doug Roy