The crisp autumn air beckoned, and my 3 1/2 year old grandson lead the way, as he, his mother and I blazed a trail through the woods of Clifford Park. Trails marked with blue, green, pink and yellow blaze, helped to chart our route in and out. The air was heavy with organic smells of decomposing fungi, leaves and dropped pine cones. Sun rays shone brightly and occasionally kissed and warmed our cheeks as we climbed rocky hills, and slid down steep inclines. My grandson quickly learned that round acorns underfoot are even more slippery than winters snowy trails. Fleet feet became slow and cautious, when acorns dropped madly from the mighty oaks. Feelings of nostal
