Leaves

Early this Spring, when it was still somewhat cool and dry and breezy, Nitram was smoking on the front porch late one night. He saw something approaching across the lawn, from the right — something smallish, light-colored, moving erratically. A skunk! Maybe a baby skunk. As we do, he decided to talk softly to it to let it know he was out there so it wouldn’t get startled and spray him (this has worked well so far).

“Hey… skunk. I’m out here. It’s just me, smoking a cigarette…”

The shape danced across the lawn.

“Skunk… don’t spray me. It’s just me… la la la…”

The shape suddenly shifted direction and came at him rapidly.

“Yah! Skunk! Don’t spray me! Ah shit… don’t— oh. Ha. Oops.”

As it got closer he realized what it was: a very large, faded leaf from last year, nearly white with age, blowing across the lawn. “Boy, did I feel stupid, out there talking to a leaf.”

A week ago, I was on the back porch feeding the squirrels and jays and chipmunks. Everyone was dancing around madly: “Me! Me! No, Me! Nom!” Out the corner of my eye I saw another small creature jump up in hopes of a peanut, and out loud I cried, “Oh it’s so cute and tiny, what is it!”

A leaf.

We both just went for eye exams. Our glasses should be in this week.