The trash has been emptied and refilled. The recycling carried away. The leaves moved to the curb and removed by plows and trucks and sweepers.
It amazes me the amount of personnel and material used to do these simple jobs.
Years ago, men with rakes piled the leaves and hoisted them into trucks. Before that we burned the leaves next to the side walks.
Today, there are plows and huge dinosaur trucks in processions moving the dead solar cells into a pile for delivery to another site, cleaning the concrete for the mobile machines.
And cops ticketing vehicles who couldn't (wouldn't) read the big green signs about the street cleaning, followed by rows of repro trucks picking up their $125 charges in a parade of forgetful wonderment.
Why do dinosaurs sound like heavy machinery? Did the T-Rex really sound like a trash truck?
And what is with the white city trucks full of black men in day glo yellow vest sitting on every corner? Are they ready to attack the leaves if they do not cooperate with the monster machines? These trucks sit at every corner, motors running, waiting.... My tax dollars at work.
So on my journey around the neighborhood observing all my tax money being used when the leaves could just rot and be washed away by the spring rains, I ponder a thought from last weekend's wonderful dinner with friends.
I caught myself saying "we" in discussions, about home and family and processes.... then I realized, I need to change that description to "I".
And life moves on. Two days of pulling nails and cutting wood and tomorrows adventure....move upstairs.