When my neighbor John refused to clean up his trash after it blew across our entire neighborhood, I never expected Mother Nature would deliver such perfect justice.

I’ve always considered myself a reasonable person. The kind who brings cookies to new neighbors, volunteers at community cleanups, and smiles politely at HOA meetings even when Mrs. Peterson drones on about proper mailbox heights for the fourth consecutive month.

My husband, Paul, says I’m too nice for my own good.

But everyone has their breaking point. Mine came wrapped in torn black garbage bags.

John moved into the blue colonial across the street three years ago.