Leaves

As all residents of the deciduous world know, it's fall. All the trees have given up ever seeing Persephone again and cast themselves to a righteous death in the humus. If they are given their due, we will all have richer, darker, spicier soil in the new year. Bring on the snow to pack them down.

Or.... not....

Suburbia is many things. Nature friendly is not one of them. Not being a fan of nature, I quite like the manicured world of green lawns and quaint little rain garden caches of shrubbe

ries and flowers that possibly match your shutters.

The nature we allow though, is still relentless. The trees we planted in the 50s and 60s are now towers of kindling, waiting to smother our emerald expanses. They are so looming in fact, they mock all attempts to tidy their droppings. Rake an 8' x 20' expanse Monday, another Tuesday and a third Wednesday, Monday's oblong is already tawny again.

Thank Thor for leaf blowers and the minimum wage shmucks who know how to operate them. You can hire one or two to corral the several tons of leaves in the gutter out front. Then take them away. Good golly do they ever.

This swath of town is blessed in an 18 wheeler with a vaccuum the size of my own human girth off the back of it. Suck, suck, suck... all nature's passive aggressive war: gone.

Or...

Nope, one week later, right back where the oak gods want us—carrying away their offal.

Hopefully, soon they'll be out of ammo, and we can anticipate the sweet blankets of snow for our next holiday. I don't thing snow blowers, though, pack up and leave with such panache.