Mr. Wesby is my neighbor on NorthBank Blvd. I only know his name because it’s written in neat, black block letters on his white mailbox.
Every Monday at around eleven in the morning, Mr. Wesby grabs a broom with a yellow bucket, and begins to sweep fallen pine needles from the tall, stately trees on his property.
He then puts them in the bucket, and piles them around the trees. Through the last few years, I have seen these grow to the size of pitcher mounds.
I’ve only said hello to Mr. Wesby twice. The first time he looked at me quizzically, then immediately looked away. The second time he blatantly ignored me. I wondered what sort of thrill Mr. Wesby got from piling pine needles around his stately trees.
Not a big enough thrill to say hello to a curious neighbor.