Just a few weeks back, we loved the falling leaves. Red, yellow, orange or brown. We were absolutely giddy when the winds shook the leaves loose from the trees and sent them skittering down the street. The banks of the Mississippi were celestial. Painted, surely, by a union member on loan from heaven.
Now, the leaves are starting to piss me off. Two or three times, yards pile up with decaying, brittle plant life devoid of charm, rank or station. Rake them up, mulch them, bag and tag.
Millions are still in the street and are plotting ugly stuff. No longer do the leaves glide to earth on gossamer wings. No more. Now the last stubborn survivors thud to earth. Heavy and dingy.
Gotta get them up before the first snowfall. At this latitude, leaves can clog storm sewers and turn intersections into hockey rinks. Hurry. Snow is possible tomorrow and we live on a snow emergency route. Our street gets plowed early which is helpful because I do too.
The city is put on alert. Pay attention, citizens, to the street sweeper schedule. Your vehicle will be towed if you park in the to-be-cleaned zone. Expensive mistake.
Our street goes both ways. Minnesota is a fairly liberal state.