"If I were a bird, I would fly about the Earth seeking the successive autumns."– George Eliot

I've mentioned the Linden tree that dominates the front yard. It's been here maybe 75 years, and it's pretty set it its ways. For instance, one of its ways is to drop all of its leaves at once. One day you'll be walking up the street thinking, ahh, fall. Look at the golds, reds, and browns on that one, pointing at the Linden.
The next day? Gone. All the leaves on the ground. When the kids were little, this meant fun, but for me, it meant work. Rake 'em up. Towering leaf piles don't just happen by themselves.
Most years, as I rake, I see my neighbor from up the way. From him, I learned the tree is a Linden, and it drops leaves first. When I moved in 25 years ago he strolled down the street with his dog, stopped, and said, "That Linden is always the first on the block to drop its leaves. Always been that way."
Noted. He's lived here a long time.
The next few falls he came by with his two rescue dogs (the first having been lost to a mysterious poisoning incident) and he'd say, "that Linden is always the first on the block to drop its leaves."
Then the next few falls he came by with no dogs, and he'd say, "that Linden is always first to drop its leaves." (some of the repetition is due to a brain injury that nearly left him for dead, but our talks were repetitious before that event.)
This time he came by with a walker, and he didn't look at me. Our road is rough, in need of repair, and there isn't time to look at neighbors or trees because staying upright takes effort. I don't interrupt him on his way.
Behind him, a new neighbor comes by with two little fuzzy Maltese puppies. At least they look like puppies. They bark and growl at me. I pretend to be frightened, stopping to watch them sniff and growl as they pass. The whole time, I fight the urge to tell them the Linden is always the first on the block to drop its leaves, something they wouldn't understand.
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