After I finished my cup of shrimp noodles and chicken dumplings, I found myself much like Thoreau did, though I only scratch the surface. Certainly, I did not spend my day there, but we all have our own neck of the woods. I “saw” several pictures, moments that frame themselves in my style. It was after the late afternoon bite, smiling from a sated stupor. I was sitting in my very own urban wild.
Thoughts flew for my friend over many media, as he grew weary, awaiting my login. “This is not the thread I cut.” While friends amuse, my frustration wells up as I ignore the life I am, playing others. It’s not everybody’s game; he knew it as I begin now. As I devoured the present scene, an aircraft in descent through a citrus sherbet band, cloud cover dominated, all but completely. I stood and ambled about for a better view. Amongst a bed of debris, an item not unlike one I might discard lay on the grounding, returning my stare. If people liked this view, they sure weren’t showing it. Was I any different, littering my own view, par – wasting the beauty before me? My mind and belly full, I tossed the empty cup in the barrel before I left.
