yellow_submarine ovenbird I walk the streets of my neighbourhood in the fall, when the leaves are piled in heaps on front lawns, and there’s still a shred of sun to warm myself in. I pass a neighbour raking with her five year old twin daughters, a picture of familial perfection. The daughters wear gingham dresses and have white bows in their hair. They help their mother collect the leaves and stuff them into a model of the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine, which zips open around the center like a novelty pencil case, if the pencil case were four feet high and six feet wide. One of the daughters climbs in and tucks leaves around herself. The mother zips the submarine closed and gives it a swift kick. The whole thing rolls down the block and out of sight and the second twin cries that it’s not fair. She wanted to ride in the Yellow Submarine. Her sister is gone, over the horizon, and she isn’t coming back. The Yellow Submarine is a one way trip and I think the second twin is lucky to have been spared. The mother and her leftover daughter continue to rake while the first twin lives a story that she’ll never get to tell. 260328 what's it to you? who go blather from