The sight of leaves spiraling downward often inspires me to visions of innovative, if bizarre, disposal methods. Perhaps a sneaky way with a wind machine, revved up in the dead of night, to blow all my leaves into someone else's territory. Another thought, which I'll donate to any inventor who cares to tinker with it, is that there must be some way to spray a very fine glue onto the trees, which would then hold leaves in place throughout the year. Fallen leaves have their uses, I suppose. Then there are compost heaps.
Compost heaps are a dull business, really.
Occasionally I see a well-tended heap going about its job of rotting into a compound over which a gardener, some future day, will gloat as he enriches his soil. For a moment, I might feel a twinge of envy but never a strong enough twinge to go and do likewise. I think I'm more into instant gratification. Strong-minded individuals simply refuse to acknowledge the existence of leaves once they hit the ground. They just ignore the little rustlers until they either blow away down the avenue or rot where they lie.