We walked down Eastern Parkway this afternoon. The sky was gray. The leaves were red and yellow and green and orange. Simon pointed out the stripey trees, the bare trees, the trees still full of leaves. Oliver held his head as far back as he could and reached his hands toward the treetops, laughing and smiling and babbling. I took each requested detour, wondered if we were soaking up enough fall to get us through the coming winter, thought about staying out until dark.