The frequency of falling leaves had grown through winter and on into spring. Normally, Grady swept on Sundays. Sundays were slow days, with little much to do aside from chores. As a child, like all children, Grady hated chores. But as an adult, chores brought with them a certain peacefulness. It filled the time, staved off boredom and came with a small sense of accomplishment. Accomplishments, for Grady, had always been hard-fought. Sunday chores were easier, lighter, and in ways, nicer than those achieved through hard work and upwind battles.
Grady’s backyard was normal-sized, but it had one giant, imposing central figure — a landscaper he had talked to once told him it was a coral tree. A thick and gnarled fellow; the coral tree sat in the middle of the backyard, intertwined with an impressive two-story treehouse, built by a previous owner. Together, the large tree and overly-sized treehouse struck a mighty, dominating presence. Nary a guest would come that did not stand before it, lightly-shocked.
The treehouse was constructed by someone who knew home-building. Rather than have the tree support the dual-platforms of the structure, the builder of it surrounded the tree with four support poles planted into concrete. The tree started out thick and stately at the bottom, but quickly, within five feet, set off in three…
