Every Thursday in my condo neighborhood, except for during the winter months, the landscaping workers descend upon the earth for many hours with their soul-crushingly loud machines. Mowers and blowers. It has been my weekly ritual, for years now, to sit in meditation each Thursday observing deep aversion, righteous indignation, sadness, bodily distress, cursing. Every week I think: This is Wrong. The gasoline-powered blowers in particular are an ecological nightmare. This has been known for years. I fret for the ecosystem, I fret for the workers' well-being. Someone should Do Something. I should Write a Letter. They should – we should – and then I never do, and they never do, and the landscaping workers continue to descend upon the earth every Thursday.
This month, a new level of outrage arises, as I realize that they are altering our experience of the fleeting glory of autumn. Crunchy leaves underfoot on the quiet streets where we all walk, blankets of reds and yellows on the vibrant green grass... blown into oblivion with a roar every Thursday. Didn’t they used to wait until the trees were finished shedding?? When did it get decided that leaves are not permitted to rest on the ground for more than a few days?? (And don’t even get me started on the subject of pesticide-based 1950s suburban golf club lawns. Sigh.)
Today is Monday. The condo neighborhood is still, the fallen leaves are glorious. And in the distance, from beyond the edge of our property, I hear two blowers revving up. Someone should Do Something.