leaves

liberate the leaves from their oppressive fate.

must we waste council gardeners' time by collecting leaves alighting the grass in the English autumn. are they really that bad? imagine, if you will, a young couple, wandering aimlessly through the slowly cooling air around the network of paths which navigates the city's central park. "oh Gerard," she quips, "it is such a lovely day, is it not?" "Indeed it is," returns Gerard's rich English baritone, "if it wasn't for all these pesky leaves." N'est pas! it doesn't happen! Gerard loves the leaves, as do we all. the endless scope of varying hue; the soft bed which cushions the unyielding outer core of the earth. the leaves make autumn what it is, let us embrace it!. so why remove them? does the leafy garden not fit in with modern Britain's self-proclaimed image? that of pride, prosperity, and freedom? well, hear this, Britain, the leaves have no freedom! leave the leaves, for they are called "leaves", after all.