Spring Cleaning

I am sitting at my desk, looking out the window into my front yard, watching the first blossoms from our plum tree swirl around in the first spring breeze. It looks calm, in spite of the wind. Friday evening I was sitting in the same place when I looked up to see a car pull into the parking lot of the apartment building next door. A pair of young men jumped out, and as the driver polished off the can of whatever was in his brown paper bag, the passenger scooped the contents of the back seat out onto the ground. I thought it was an odd time and place for this chore, and it became a little more suspicious when the passenger scurried to the curb to drop a purse into the trash. To be more precise, he dropped it into the compost-only green bin. Then they were back in the car, heading up the street.
I made a note of the color and model, as well as the lack of license plate. Then my wife, the adventurous one, went to fish the purse out of the compost. There was a library card, some mail, food stamps, and a few other personal items. The only way these items were trash was if they didn't belong to you. We called the police with a description of the car and its occupants, along with the contents of the purse, along with the papers from the back seat.
If I lived in Mayberry, I might expect some straightforward resolution to this story. Hoodlums from Raleigh, no doubt. Instead, I live in Oakland. The first three items in our local news Saturday were about shootings, one of which occurred just a few blocks from where I'm sitting. I quickly checked that one for more information on the off chance that there was some connection between my incident and the homocide. Somehow, to me, it would be more reassuring if it were all connected. A crime wave perpatrated by a kingpin, a druglord who was on the verge of being apprehended as his empire crumbled in the light of a new day.
No such luck. In spite of the change of season and our new administration, bad things continue to happen right outside our door. I know that it is no different than any number of large urban areas, but this is the one I call "home." Outside the branches wave their assent.