Every December, most of the leaves are finally off the trees, which means that it's time to sweep them up. This process used to be more work-intensive, with an embarrassingly loud leaf blower and (equally loud) leaf shredder, but last year I decided to just 'let it be' and I only swept the path. The garden seemed to be no worse off for it, so I decided to repeat the strategy this year. (It's sort of like how I gave up shampoo twenty years ago and never looked back.) One difference this year is that the city has instituted composting, which means that the leaves (and other debris), when placed into a large, clear bag, will be collected and composted. It's just a small thing, but I did feel better knowing that the leaves weren't headed to a landfill. It's nice to think about participating in a natural cycle. I was tempted to put myself in a bag for pick-up and composting.
Several years ago, someone from one of then neighboring apartment buildings started 'paint-balling' our garden and those of several of our neighbors. I want this person to be caught and forced to clean up trash in a park or something, but I also understand the impulse. I often fantasize about incinerating the cars that have colonized the sidewalks on my block. (But I don't.) Everyone should have a garden, or at least have the option. Skeptics will say, 'but where would you put these small gardens?' and I would say, 'where we now allocate public space for the storage of privately owned vehicles.' To have rows of community gardens lining the streets instead of 'parking' is my urban-planning dream. But as much as I know that Donald Trump loves community gardens, I'm not optimistic that my proposal is going anywhere soon.
I love the (almost/sort of/maybe not) tessellated rows of yellow leaves on the climbing hydrangea.
It was also time to put the candles away.
And when it was all done, everyone was finally ready for the cold.