Work of the Wind

The Monterey Bay is feeling these wind blasts,
as has the eucalytpus grove above my house.
The trees tower over my small house and after
a night of the wind I find my garden covered with a
thousand leaves.

I’ll rake them, okay, if I must, but my plan,
the plan I’ve had ever since retirement,
is to leave the yard alone, do the minimum,
and not agitate the earth any more.

I’ll be out with rusty rake tines scratching
at this newly fallen bed of crispy structures,
pulling out grass where I’d rather see it remain.
I should be living more easily at this age.

Instead, this shaking sky is putting me
back to work.

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