I noticed that the sycamore leaves blowing off the tree, took their time to reach the ground; they flew, fluttered, glided swayed and changed directions--slow enough to catch, but unpredictable enough to make a great game of trying to catch one.
We waited for gusts of wind--missed many--but then Grampa caught one--I caught one and finally my granddaughter caught hers. We never let them touch a surface, not even a table top, and strung them up with thread. Leaves that have never touched the ground!
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