They fall out of the trees and stick to everything. They're a bitch to clean up -- I have to sweep backwards, which means I am wearing most of them. They cling to the walkway and patio like wet cement.
They. Are. All. Over. My. House.
They spin when sailing through the air, and they travel in packs. If I step on one whirlygig, I can be certain that fifty have adhered themselves to that one whirlygig. It may be months before I see the patio outside and my floors inside uncluttered.
By the time I sweep the patio, I notice that behind me are more whirlygigs. Insulting!
So, I'll keep the broom handy, the industrial outdoor broom, and do my best to keep up with them. Right now, they're winning. It's on, though. The whirlygigs might be ahead of me, but they have yet to beat me.
So it starts -- the season that almost never ends.
