I don't want you to be jealous or anything, but this is a picture of my house:
And that's my car, and that's my maple tree. It's pretty, isn't it? Very "Autumn in New England" if I do say so myself.
As you might expect, we get a lot of compliments on our tree.
At first I'd answer kindly with a response like: Oh thank you. It brings a great deal of joy to our family.
Or: I agree. The colors are truly splendid!
And when I was really feeling the spirit of the season: Oh yes! A magnificent mark of God's creation!
But that was last week. This week I'm more likely to say: Oh yeah? Do you know how many leaves this bastard-of-a-tree drops in my yard?
Or: Go to the hardware store and buy me a damn-freaking leaf blower, ya dumb butt.
Now don't get me wrong here--I love my yard, and I love my tree, and I love the fall. But I'd love them even more if I could hire a full-time lawn boy (a foreign lawn boy who prefers to work in nothing but his boxer shorts and some cowboy boots).
Maybe next year.