A Call for New Budget Committee Members to Help Ashland Parce its Funds
the fiery leaves of autumn—
smold’ring fun’ral pyre
An overnight rainstorm. Run-off gushes down the sidewalk and street, transporting fallen leaves as it carves away at the pavement. Because of the hill’s slope, most of those leaves end up in front of my driveway.
I pull my garbage can to the curb, negotiating wheels over broken cement that been worn away a full two inches lower than street level. If I don’t leave my cans in this curbside dent, the garbage man refuses to pick them up.