Of flowers

Well, "flowers" comes from "flora," which means plantlife in general, right?

If Abraham had lived in Memphis instead of Ur, God might well have taken him to the front door and said, "I will make your descendants like the leaves in the yard."

Today we bagged our eighteenth 42-gallon bag of leaves. I do the front yard, Drazen does the back. I know for my part I left two big piles because it got dark, and I haven't gone through the monkey grass or under the azaleas yet. And we have a lot of monkey grass and azaleas.

And in the front yard, they are pin oak leaves, those thin, slippery ones. (Sometimes I sneak over into the neighbors' yards just to enjoy the ease of raking the large, traditional, crunchy oak leaves.)

And for each bag, I stop and stomp it down four or five times, four or five stomps each time.

How many leaves could that be?

And then you look up and see that the trees are still full of leaves!

It's staggering.

I'm glad we don't have to rake the stars.