On our way to a family hike, we decided to change course and spend time at my sons’ school instead.

It had been so long! Hikes could wait.

The Ginko trees near the parking lot were gleaming gold. They shimmered in the morning light inviting us in. We stepped on the yellow carpet of leaves shed –  soft, wet with dew. We bunched them into our hands, gathering more and more and then ‘TOSS’ – into the air they flew. The leaves rained down on us, gently grazing our cheeks, floating down. My sons giggled, jumped, squealed in delight. “Gingko war!” one of them yelled. We bent down, grabbed the leaves… threw, ducked, ran. The trees kept showering on us. 

We walked by the garden beds. In spring we had stood over them weeding, watering, planting little seeds. Now they were filled to the brim with dry, brown leaves. The foursquare courts were empty. ‘Annie Annie over’ the wall seemed to echo with voices from past sunny summers. The basket ball courts and green field stretched wide, no children running laps, dribbling, playing hula hoops to break its expanse. In the corner lay a stack of tree stumps. Our ‘jumping logs’ exclaimed my son and showed us how he and his friends leaped from one log to another – their own hurdle race. We spent some time there hopping, leaping, posing. Then we walked towards the Kinder section. The play structure was empty, a sign reminding us that it was not safe to use it. We stepped into the Kinderyard -now quiet, peered into the mud pit- now dry, and passed by the lunch tables – now empty. But the apple trees were laden with tiny fruit, the succulents were still green and a lone metal butterfly hung and swung merrily at the entrance to my son’s old classroom. 

We played tag on the blacktop and the open basketball court. We felt our own blood rush and heard our own voices break into laughs. Then we strapped ourselves back into the car and drove back home.

It has been so long, but school must wait.