Fort Worth Weekly
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Every morning, first thing, I take the dog for a walk. In fall, we wade through dead leaves, a downside of living in the older tree-lined hood of
Riverside. When the wind is blowing, it’s truly a sight to behold. Leaves tumble in a blizzard of orange, red, and yellow. On my slate-gray street, dead leaves come back to life, and leap like a corps de ballet spin, double, even triple pliés, pirouetting on one stem.
One morning, after watching this wind-powered dance recital, I had a hunch and turned down a street. The dog was agreeable, as she always is to anything that lengthens our walks. I had something more in mind, and, sure enough, one of my Trumpster neighbors had finally