Leaves Again

 

Leaves from the trees. Bon fide nature on the streets, paths & gutters of Singapore. At the Haig Mr Li raked them up daily; it was uncertain whether he used them in his garden like we did the elm leaves in Melbourne. (Must ask the man.) The Indian work-crews regularly gathered the leaves along the grassed patches at the Haig, using blowers to make the heaps, before they were bagged in plastic and carted away. Early last month a friend's wife down in Melbourne was called away from her afternoon coffee by the news that her house was on fire. The battery of the Bunnings leaf-blower, left on charge it must have been, had overheated. That was enough to burn her four bedroom weatherboard right down to the ground. The brigade could not do a thing. Incredible. Astonishing. Luckily, the lady had good insurance. Her three adult children were terribly distraught to lose all the family photo albums, the keepsakes, favourite furniture. Leaves. A retired government servant on a large suburban block had needed a blower to manage. In the middle of Covid down in Melbourne again, 2021 it must have been, on Barkley Street, Footscray, an unlikely looking nature lover surprised. A middle-aged Viet woman had bent to the pavement to collect a large, dried elm leaf. Back in the day girls & women collected flowers & leaves and placed them in books... Or was that flowers & herbs only? Anyhow, rather a different profile here: a Viet; after what she had been through, wanting to collected one stray brown leaf from the dirty Footscray pavement? Wherefore?... Strange... Oh! Oh! Lady here had proceeded to used her find to press the button at the traffic light on the Barkly crossing. Lift buttons had been in the news at the time. Door handles. Phones. Death lurked all round. Here in Sing now, in this year of 2026, this afternoon returning from Bugis, a couple of young women were found in the tight little Dog Run on Guillemard. The heart always sank passing there. The construction of the run had been followed over quite some months. For many months it was unclear what was afoot there. Often they built towers in SG in less time. This dog corral was a contractor’s sideline. Miserable, really, the thing. Hardly better than being cooped up in the flats. Yes, there was grass, true enough. Saplings & little shrubs; a low perimeter wire fence. On the other side of the path a gigantic tree thrust toward the clouds. It was some notable something or other the tree, a local marker; difficult to cut down for some more housing at a sought after location opposite Grandlink Apartments. One smaller girl, younger was sitting or squatting against the fence. The thick-set, taller was in charge of some larger breed. Large dogs were common in the pigeon holes, the same as condos & landed property, invariably boutique, Insta types. The domestic helper therefore was vital giving the pet some runaround, a whiff of grass, a whiff of the open air; of the rear of a companion brought over to the Run. This lass's charge was caught in the last of the pass—a rich brown coat, larger sized animal. What had taken attention in the pass was the helper bending to pick up leaves. One, two, three. Four leaves it might have been. The majority were brown, but a green-tinged also served her purpose. Again here, wherefore? WTF? Was this not strange. There could be no guessing. It was impossible... Lingering, slowing the pace. Turning back and patiently, the attention was worth it. The gal came up close to her brown coated charge, leaves in hand; and there she bend a little and began fanning. Fanning the top of the canine head. Waving her clutched, improvised fan to stir the air. There might have been a proper fan up in the apartment left behind. If the employers got home to find the pet pooped there might be 20 Qs, hell to pay; dismissal too not out of the question. No doubt there were cameras at the Run. Devoted pet owners could sync their phones. The elderly, children, maids themselves at their chores could be monitored through the working day. Five, six waves close over the top of the head. Not to say the gal's heart wasn't in it. It was hard to tell. These girls were mostly angels, heart-melting their care and solicitude. Film would be hard pressed to capture it. Monday afternoon, past 5, after three full hours of toil at the library desk. The mouth of the dog visible. Overcast again quite heavy. There had been no need for a shower the day before. Far from the usual torch two days in a row. PSI was bad, a couple of stifling periods on Jalan Sultan and again just then emerging from the bus at Grandlink. Perhaps that was it.