Leaves after a Storm

A net of leaves spread itself across the driveway. Wet from last night’s rain, they did not crunch when stepped upon. One stuck to my shoe as I crossed from the steps to the car and I pulled it off before opening the driver’s side door. The door handle was wet, but not very. I had to pull four more leaves off the windshield before I got into the car.

And then I just sat there. I did not even turn to tuck my legs under the steering wheel. I just sat facing sideways in the car with my feet on the driveway and my elbows on my knees. I sat facing towards my house, my lawn, my neighborhood. The sun was not up yet, but false dawn had struck some time before and I could see clearly. I could see my lawn, just ready to be mowed. I could see my neighbor’s lawn and the red plastic kiddie car turned on its side near his azaleas. I could see the Hormans’ Christmas lights blinking three yards down and two months early. Perhaps they were supposed to be Halloween lights, you never could tell with Mrs. Horman. I could see, at the very end of the block, Nell wander out into her driveway to fetch the morning paper.

And I just sat there, watching Nell, watching the Hormans’ blinking lights, watching the bizarre stillness of my neighbor’s lawn. I cannot recall any of the things I thought at the time, only that it was about home and not about work.

I stayed that way until jolted from my thoughts by the horrid screeching clank of my neighbor’s ancient garage door opener. I grimaced, for myself and for my sleeping wife, and then swung my legs into the car and shut the door. Either I had missed a leaf or it had fallen while I was sitting staring at nothing. I left it on the windshield and pulled out of my driveway. If I had stayed any longer I would have had to listen to my neighbor close his garage door, too. The leaf remained stuck to my windshield all the way to the office.