April 28, 2018
There is a medium-size tree in front of her gate. Dry leaves that fall from it litter her front yard every day. She would wait a week before cleaning it up. She often plans to knock next door to ask her neighbor if they could have the tree cut. For some reason (A case of It Is Not A Big Deal), she chooses not to even at opportune times. Maybe she likes the act of sweeping the leaves, gathering them in a mound at a corner, then scooping them all at once. Maybe she likes the sound they make.