The sun feels warm on the back of my neck, but this is early March and the wind is cold today. I’m going to focus on the yard in front of me and not on the houses on both sides–that ugly 1960’s apartment building is screaming for my attention–so I squiggle to the other side of my chair and look down at the crushed granite path that weaves between the plantings.
Last year’s leaves are still hanging from the maple trees. I don’t know why they don’t fall to the ground like other leaves do. Almost seems disrespectful to winter, hanging on like that. How can a tree ignore the seasons?
Then, out of the corner of my eye, a glint of color, a flash. From the apartment building; I have to look. I turn back around and crane my neck so I have a line of sight between two branches. Why am I surprised? The woman who lives in the upstairs apartment never took down her Christmas lights.
How can a human ignore the seasons?