It rained today, but it allowed me to notice all the trees that are still clinging to their leaves, some in bright reds and yellows of peak autumn. My backyard is a impressionistic landscape of green and gold, the leaves on the trees and the grass, clinging to the roof of the shed in back.

As a child my favorite days were Saturdays in the fall -- cool, crisp September days that began with a soccer game on dew-wet grass behind the firehouse, Engine Co. No. 1 and Only in my sweet little smalltown youth. Bright, sunny Saturdays when the air is cool but the sun warm so that you need to wear jeans but can get away with only a t-shirt, no jacket -- Jeans and T-Shirt Days.

I'd spend the afternoons running around town and several backyards with several friends, usually riding our bicycles rom house to house for a bigger yard or better toys or another snack. We'd gather more people to play tackle football in the schoolyard, where the pavement was out of bounds and the end zones marked by trees. As quarterback I was Joe Montana, lofting a pefect pass over the middle, leading the receiver just enough for one of seven or eight touchdown passes on the day. Returning the kicks -- this is older, 7th, 8th grade play -- I was Rocket Ismail, cutting left and outrunning everyone down the field to score.

After football we needed to get a drink or a snack before dinner, so it was into the center of town to the deli on the corner where one Sunday afternoon we sat outside -- a bicycle gang of tough football players, dirty and worn after a day of play, drinking out sodas -- when on quiet, deserted Sunday afternoon small town main street when all the other stores are closed (back when small stores didn't open on Sunday) a vintage 60s Corvette came down the street and made a right turn in front of us and continued past.

"Check it out," we admired the car which was followed by another and inside, as it turned, following the Corvette, a woman shouted from the passenger window, "THAT WAS BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN!" But we, knowing The Boss lived nearby in late 80s "Born In The USA" career fame, wer estill admiring the car.

And then, near 5 o'clock or as dusk set in -- earlier and earlier as summer gave way to winter through autumn -- we'd return home, dirty and satisfied with a good day hard at play and the smell of dirt and grass lingering on our hands and clothes. Coming home, into the warm house with Mom beginning dinner and Dad watching Notre Dame with the satisfaction of a day well spent in the life of a child.