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 |  Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
| Trash 24.julio.2019 bobturn writes about an encounter with a youth collecting trash in "Invalid Entry"  . I responded: "Absolutely beautiful to read this! Not just the lovely flow of words but the meaning conveyed by showing it. I travel so I see the "past" and "future" and what's possible. The trash in the Balkans was unavoidable. The lack of trash in Tokyo was stunning. The younger generation in Costa Rica is far more conscientious than mine. It's visible. I hope to one day visit Rwanda where they have outlawed plastic. I want to experience how that has been accomplished. I've been able to connect with young people around the world. It counters any cynicism that we can't connect. Sitting in front of my window 24.juli.2019 I also thought about 🌑 Darleen - QoD  's comment on Char's blog entry.She wrote: "I have no significant places other than those that make me feel "safe". Ex-agoraphobic, 20 years of fighting anxiety, my home and more so my room is my safe place and the only place of significance for me, unless you count a really dark night with a sky full of stars and the moon." So, thinking of Darleen, what is my experience today sitting in front of this window? I don't see people unless they are on the white roof of Gild, the distillery I gaze down on. I don't hear people unless they are three floors below in the weed filled back entry to the clothes store, Betty's Divine. I hear the incessant passing of traffic, albeit muted. There are few birds here. No tree out my window. No bushes or flowers. No balcony. No crow or goose on the gable of the gentrified condos of The Babs today. It's a sterile inner-city landscape best described by humans and human activity. Yet, there are puffs of white in a blue sky and although the grass on the mountains has seeded there's still some green. It's been a wet year. I can also see the summer green of the maples and elms I walk past each day. Were I to get out of this worn-out swivel chair, disconnect from this screen and the cord plugged into the wall, and leave my coffee behind, I could walk across the hall and sit before a huge window and look across the river. I'd see people gathering for Wednesday's Out-to-Lunch. I might see kayakers or surfers by Brennan's Wave. The leaves of the poplar would wave at me and the tower of the Old Milwaukee Road depot would be flying the flag. Inside my plants are complaining that they need watering. And spoons, forks and knives are waiting to be properly soaped up, bathed, rinsed and dried. Living alone can make one hear one's own voice. The quiet suffocates like a pillow. And except for the moon, there are few lights in the city's night sky. 933 |
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