Yesterday I spent the entire day clearing out oak leaves that had covered my flower beds, wedged themselves between, over, and under the gazillion rocks that border the walkway and garden, carpeted the front lawn, and tangled themselves intricately in the branches of my shrubs. Did I neglect to do leaf removal in the autumn? No, it had been thoroughly done by a handyman leaf service in November and again in January. Do I have oak trees? No, but the large yard perched on an incline across the street has oak trees. Why am I writing about this? Just to vent, I guess. The people who live there watch ever so gleefully each year as tons of oak leaves swirl, dance, and gust from their yard into their neighbors’ yards, those adjoining and those that are here on the downslope across the roadway. I’ve seen the oak owners strolling around their yard, winking at the brown, crispy leaves and waving "bon voyage". The "plus" is (and this is really a stretch but I was determined to find a plus) in finding that sometimes the bogged-down leaves have insulated a tender plant or an interesting caterpillar from the winter cold.