A Leafy Fantasy

As I drive between piles of leaves that line either side of the residential streets around me, I imagine veering my car into the deepest pile. I imagine leaves flying in every direction, arcing up, twice the height of my car, in a spectacular, leafy imitation of the parting of the Red Sea.

But I remain safely in the center of the road, maneuvering between the tempting towers of leaves. I practice self-restraint, because I know that the leaves will just squish unsatisfyingly under the wheels of my car, ruining my fantasy. It's more fun in my imagination.

Fall Frustration

In a couple of weeks, the county will send trucks to pick up piles of fallen leaves. Every street around me has been reduced to a single lane by vast snowbanks of leaves. And I grumble and complain, because I have to back up to let another car pass, or park two blocks from home by a rare leafless patch of curb.

I bitterly question why people can't just wait until leaf day to rake their leaves to the curb. Why the big hurry to encumber my life?

Then it rained. And I understood.

(But I still hate it.)