As I drive between piles of leaves that line either side of the residential streets around me, I imagine veering my car into the deepest pile. I imagine leaves flying in every direction, arcing up, twice the height of my car, in a spectacular, leafy imitation of the parting of the Red Sea.
But I remain safely in the center of the road, maneuvering between the tempting towers of leaves. I practice self-restraint, because I know that the leaves will just squish unsatisfyingly under the wheels of my car, ruining my fantasy. It's more fun in my imagination.
(Cross-posted to my 100 words blog, which I practically never update, but have written about leaf piles on twice this month.)