How Homeowners View the World

Weeks ago, friends online were describing the glorious onset of autumn in various parts of the country. I couldn't contribute to the glee. Pine and juniper look pretty much the same all year round. All I could report was waking up to chilly, 70 degree mornings. (That's 21° Celsius.)

However, last Thursday, late in the afternoon, the cold arrived abruptly. A friend and I were stringing lights around the sunny balcony of her office when we noticed dark clouds rushing toward town and saw specks of rain on the old, wooden rails. 

The downpour began just as we hurriedly plugged the lights in. Inside her warm office, we pulled two chairs near the windows and gazed at car headlights bouncing and splashing down the wet street and at her Christmas lights flickering in the heavy rain. We wondered what liquor you use to make eggnog, or if liquor is even necessary.

The cold lasted only a few days, but long enough for the non-native trees, planted around the town by east coast settlers in the 1870s, to begin shedding their leaves.

Twelve miles away, my backyard looks snowed in. It is buried under the crunchy, golden leaves of a ten-year-old willow. 

Since we're in the high desert, yards here are landscaped primarily with gravel. My front yard, usually lifeless, dark, and severe, has been transformed into an inviting cushion of green and silver-gold, courtesy of an enormous willow.

Beautiful! At least that's what I thought...

On Sunday, a couple down the street were clearing leaves from their front yard. Raking leaves! What a novel idea! All I've ever done to leaves is admire and occasionally photograph them. 

I greeted Steve and Eydie (really) with a cheerful and meaningless comment about fall cleaning. Yes, Eydie sighed, it happens all the time because Roger never trimmed that willow tree. (Roger was the previous owner of my house.) 

I took the hint and called a gardening service. But really, it seems silly to clean up Earth's festive decorations.