A Trashy Story

Near North Park, Parham Road is a lovely divided road with grassy median. Trees grow on our side of the road, surrounding the library and our neighbors, a church and houses. Across the street, office parks sport bucolic landscaping -- in an office-park way. All of this is to say that the few tenths of a mile from the highway before my turn are quiet and scenic, especially in April with redbud and dogwood and azalea bursting into bloom.

Yesterday morning, a bulky shape on the median caught my attention. A bear?! A weirdly mangled box? Ah, no. A maroon bucket seat, in fine condition, on its side. How does something like that get away form you? I wondered as I clicked on the turn signal.

At lunch time, I ran an errand. Going out, my gaze must have been elsewhere; on the return trip a mass of stuff not on the median, but sitting on the right shoulder demanded my attention. The red seat sat next to a good-sized shopping cart and a giant garbage bag: a composition in found art.

This morning, the cart sat alone.