From Noise to None
Every Thursday, the gardeners pull up their pickup truck in our driveway and blaze through the front and backyards with their lawnmowers and leaf blowers. Sometimes, they shave the two towering palm trees that frame our house so that only neat tufts of green remain on top, or buzz-cut the Japanese pine my parents once artfully trimmed like those in Chinese paintings. Occasionally, they complain about the dog poop, but we see everything as fertilizer. In an obsessive-compulsive society, weeds are nonexistent.Very late Friday night (or ridiculously early Saturday morning—time is relative), I went for a run when the rest of the neighborhood was peacefully asleep. I ran smack dab in the middle of the streets with my eyes half closed and auditory senses heightened. I was acutely aware of my surroundings despite the muted colors and dark shadows, the gaping holes in my peripheral vision. The prowling cats sensed my presence and I sensed theirs—with a mutual understanding that we shared the streets tonight. Ahead, giant leaves rustled on a particularly burly tree surrounded by unraked leaves. That family must not hire a gardener, I thought, then cracked a smile.I stepped onto the sidewalk and over the dried leaves for that satisfying crunch.
