Autumn

Autumn arrived in Hamburg with the grace of a new-fallen leaf. Colors, colors everywhere. The days are crisp and cold, the mornings foggy, the mid-afternoon skies blue. The sun doesn't fully awaken until after 8 am, and it's getting dark earlier. Yet the days hold the warmth of the sun, and late afternoons are perfect for being out in the fresh air.

Sophie and I are ready for an explore. Long coats, scarves, hats and rainboots on, we tromp to the apple tree in the backyard to pick a fruit. Recently, the night temperature hovered around freezing, and this cold snap gave the fruit a jolt of flavor. Sophie spots an apple, and I lift her up so her little hands grasp it. With a tug, it's off, and after a cursory glance for worm-holes, she tries take the first bite. The skin is thick, so she hands it to me. I bite into the fruit flesh. A kiss of cold greets my lips, then sweetness. Something inside me awakens. Greedily, I want more, and crunch into the fruit again. Sophie looks up, big blue eyes appraising the situation, hands outstretched. She knows that Mom's got something good, and takes a nibble, then a chunk. We pass the apple back and forth, enjoying the flavors. I toss the core into the bushes. She tugs on her hat; I readjust it so it doesn't slide over her eyes. It's a game we play, something just for us.

We stop at the oak tree at the end of the walkway to collect acorns. The red squirrels won't mind, there's a buffet on our street alone. A dozen or so acorns go into the bucket. Then Sophie says, "Sophie in the bushes to pick Smashberries." She slips between some shrubs and tugs on a few remaining white round berries. She brings her quarry to the street, tosses them near her feet, and stomps them to smithereens with her right boot. Satisfied, she takes my hand, and we walk to the bridge.

"Trip, trap, trip, trap," Sophie and I sing as we approach the bridge. She takes the bucket, and places a handful of acorns on the wood railing. One by one, she tosses the acorns into the creek. "Satisfying plop!" she grins. We watch little twigs float in the water, and look for ducks. A spider wove a web connecting the bridge with a shrub. Pleased, Sophie takes my hand again, and we continue to the park.

Our little park is alive with wildness. Ruby rosehips glow on thornbushes, reminding us of summer's fiery heat. Leaves on the maple trees change almost before our eyes; the crown a dusty red, the mid-section a swirl of golds and greens, the lower branches cling to their fading green glory. Gone are the plums, marillens and blackberries. A duck waddles across the grass, and brown birds hop around a new patch of mushrooms. The blue sky is clear today.

Sophie dashes to the slide. I watch her climb, remembering that not so long ago, this same girl dared to play only in the sandbox, only on the rocking donkey, only on the carousel with Papa. Now she climbs to the top of the slide, tucks her feet under her, and zips down, bold and confident. She knows what to do.

A gust of wind sets loose a flurry of yellow leaves, and tickles my cheeks. My baby is no longer a baby. She's started preschool. She stirs the batter when we bake cookies, and holds her own cup of milk when she eats. She's figured out that some sounds are words, and words have meaning, and if she says "please", she'll probably get what she wants. She has her own thoughts and opinions, and wants to share them. She can spend time away from home, with other children, and thrive. As summer flowed into autumn, Sophie left infancy and has taken her first steps towards independence. Now it's my job to step to the side a bit so she can grow.

"Mama!" Sophie shrieks with a grin. I squat, arms outstretched, and she run as fast as she can into them. We hug and rock side to side. I kiss her head. She snuggles in, pauses, then wriggles away. "Come see!" she says, and takes my hand and leads me to the yellow leaves.