The Blowers!

The Blowers are here.

These mystical beings come from a land far south of here, for their language hints at one I've studied in my University days, but, in practice, have not kept up, so we have a barrier when it comes to communication. They stand, statue-like, in front of our building with orange pieces of equipment that seem to somehow push debris around with air! Ask me not how this is done, for I would say witchcraft! Yet, my employer seems to continue to let them appear on our doorstep, speaking strange languages and pushing the air and debris around in circles, trapping them in black bags, G-d only knows where they take this! To further their wicked intentions no doubt.

I ask them what they want, who they need, why they need our leaves and dirt, but they only look at me with confused eyes, their brows furrowed in concentration. They are a noble people, I think, and the leaves, dirt, and dust they take with them seem merely a task; there is more to any person than what they do in the day, but it is especially true with these folk.