One of the joys of living in a old neighborhood are the handsome old trees that line the streets. Their branches from opposite sides of the street interlock in a canopy, diffusing light to the passersby on the sidewalks and streets.
What are not diffused are the brood of feral leaves that find their way to my doorstep. I spent nearly an hour raking leaves in the dark. I couldn’t stand looking at them for another day. I didn’t even bother picking them up, I just raked them onto the street for the street sweeper to deal with. I pay my taxes. I’m entitled every now and again.