It’s early August, the height of summer, pushing triple digits every day. The maple tree in the front yard is glorious and full and green.
Except…
There’s one single stinking leaf that has to get out of the gates early, clearly “offsides,” jumping the gun and showing off at least two months early.
“Look at me! Look at me! I’m a rouge, renegade, crimson red maple leaf in SoCal, where there shouldn’t be any maple trees to begin with!”
Give ’em Hell, Festus!
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 