I am sitting here in my little office, the sun will be rising in a few minutes and to my mind all should be peaceful.
But beneath my feet the floor is stirring and shaking.
OK so I live in California, "It must be an earthquake, mustn't it?"
No sadly it is not an earthquake. "Sadly?" you ask.
No the silence of the pre dawn and the shaking floor is the product of the gardeners. I live in an apartment whose manicured lawns and trees are maintained by a flock of gardeners. Nice men all. Except for the Tuesday morning ritual.
The leaf blowers!
Tuesday? But today is Wednesday?
Yes it is Wednesday but on Tuesday morning it started to rain just after the leaf blowing started. So my morning began with a soft tappity tap of rain on my windows instead of the constant roar of leaf blowers.
I don't mind the rain. Though it does find the holes in my leaky shoes. I am English. We are born with webbed feet, my second language is duck. Quack quack.
I cannot understand why the gardeners even have their leaf blowers out. The rain yesterday washed almost every leaf from the grounds, they lie in soggy mounds on top of the rainwater grids at the bottom of the street. A quick rake and a shovel would clear the gratings to let the rain drain away. But no.
They are en masse gathered outside my house, leaf blowers in hand. Leaf blowing the wel manicured lawn for no other reason that I can tell but to fulfil their quota of leaf blower time.
Silence!
Happy New Year everyone.
But beneath my feet the floor is stirring and shaking.
OK so I live in California, "It must be an earthquake, mustn't it?"
No sadly it is not an earthquake. "Sadly?" you ask.
No the silence of the pre dawn and the shaking floor is the product of the gardeners. I live in an apartment whose manicured lawns and trees are maintained by a flock of gardeners. Nice men all. Except for the Tuesday morning ritual.
The leaf blowers!
Tuesday? But today is Wednesday?
Yes it is Wednesday but on Tuesday morning it started to rain just after the leaf blowing started. So my morning began with a soft tappity tap of rain on my windows instead of the constant roar of leaf blowers.
I don't mind the rain. Though it does find the holes in my leaky shoes. I am English. We are born with webbed feet, my second language is duck. Quack quack.
I cannot understand why the gardeners even have their leaf blowers out. The rain yesterday washed almost every leaf from the grounds, they lie in soggy mounds on top of the rainwater grids at the bottom of the street. A quick rake and a shovel would clear the gratings to let the rain drain away. But no.
They are en masse gathered outside my house, leaf blowers in hand. Leaf blowing the wel manicured lawn for no other reason that I can tell but to fulfil their quota of leaf blower time.
Silence!
Happy New Year everyone.
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