If you’re out for a Sunday drive and swing by our place today, you’ll get handed a rake and a bag.

Leaves on the ground.

Mind you, we don’t have any trees left in our yard, but the leaves migrate — like Canada Geese — from yard to yard. Working their way south for the winter.

They don’t like to shiver.

Neither do I.

Hm.

On the streetscape, I just wait for them to blow on down the road. We live on bit of a hill and, like water, the leaves will eventually rush right by.

I’m counting on that, because there is no lawn to rake on the boulevard. And whatever lands on the organic mulch stays on the organic mulch, unless it blows on down the road.

But in the back, raking leaves. We’ll even supply one of these…

Mr. G, honey is making French Onion Soup and getting the chipmunk nest out of the powder room exhaust fan. I’m raking leaves and making some writing notes for tomorrow.

You?