Live oaks are beautiful trees, but strange. Evergreen, they pick Spring to drop leaves, and the amount is almost staggering. Raking is futile. An afternoon of raking leads to frustration, since the next day reveals the same amount before the raking on the day before.
This Spring seems a little worse, but then again, it might be current tasks have left my stamina depleted, and my thoughts just as deplenished.
So, the yard is mowed, the leaves are blown into the street, and I don't care if the city has a problem with the amount. They have machines to sweep them away, and it's their job to accomplish this task.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.