Playing in an autumn wonderland

We walk in a loose line like a small herd of cows heading for the milking shed - four chattering children, two dogs, two mothers - one with a toddler in a backpack - and a grandmother, down the road on a Sunday afternoon. Each child has their favourite hiding spot and they leap out to surprise us as we amble down the hill. It's warm with little breeze as we cross the bridge over the clear running stream into the reserve.
By tradition, we always stop and lean over the bridge to gaze at the water and throw a few stones to enjoy the splash and clunk of rock on the stony bottom.
A mother speaks. "Oh dear, what is that?" A floating, indeterminate black form bobs slightly in the ripples of the stone's throw and a frisson of interest and horror strikes the party. More stones get thrown but we still can't identify it. Road kill probably, and a pet is missing from someone's hearth.
The grisly find is quickly forgotten as we continue through the reserve along the stream edge until we reach the improvised steps down the bank to the water. The children step down, alerted by warnings from the mothers to be careful of the slippery, fallen leaves. Someone has hung a tyre on a rope which causes huge excitement, and today we forget to look for koura (small freshwater crayfish) which crawl from under the rock edges and normally are the subject of close observation.
The shoes come off, and while one swings wildly out over the stream, Louis spots a leaf the size of an umbrella floating downstream, which he rescues, shakes off the water and waves over his head. Jeremy assists with a big push but gets furious and lashes out when Alice careers back on the end of the rope and almost knocks him from the bank.
We manage to persuade them to leave the creek behind and the leaf provides the prop for a procession - three youngsters with a long bamboo stem linking them together whilst the huge leaf is held aloft.
"Can we look for eels?", and it's down the bank again to the creek to hunt while the dogs roar around in a mayhem of stick chasing.
We get to the busy road, the dogs and children are reined in and we head towards the next reserve up on the hill, to Keirunga.
The cemetery is the next stop. We visit Grandi's grave and find a few treasures to place on it - some bright green leaves and some escaped faux flowers while the baby clambers over the gravestones emptying out discoloured water from the vases.
Leaves are starting to drop from the oaks in the tree-lined gully and the dogs are begging for more sticks to be thrown. Sizzles is the stick dog and can leap metres in one jump, whilst Basil barks frenetically and chases him in and out of the ditches. He can't understand what the fascination is in a stick, but likes the chase.
Along a steep bank, scores of red, spotted toadstools stand in a stately community. They are huge this year, like flamboyant dinner plates. Some are cupped with gills, others emergent in round, stippled bumps. Awestruck, the children scrabble up the bank to look down on the display and speculate about what kind of fairy life lives here.
A whistle sounds and the children realise it is train day at Keirunga. We have no money with us but we enjoy the bustle and excitement of the crowds of families picnicking and partying in the playground.
Autumn, "the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" when the days get shorter, the sun is lower in the sky and the weather is less reliable. But find a beautiful April day and a leisurely walk from home brings rewards for dogs and humans of all ages.