A HARVEST OF FRUSTRATION

The year has passed quickly, from a mean-spirited Winter to a Spring that was an extension of Winter to a Summer that was a Spring, and now to Autumn. I watch my lawn disappear under a blanket of discarded leaves falling as a gentle rain of from tired limbs. Today, I came across a poem by Robert Frost, fitting for the season, called "Gathering Leaves":

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next nothing for use,
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop.

What does this have to do with water and wastewater utilities? Substitute "regulations" for "leaves".