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A pedestrian morning

It was a busy morning, and I don’t mean that in a good sense.

The recycled inventory included beer cans (Coors Light, Budweiser, Bud Light), Mike’s Hard Lemonade, a Diet Coke bottle, plus the requisite McDonalds-Bojangles-Burger King-Wendys-Chick-fil-A wrappers and containers.

Despite the signage, the earth is not 'for rent'. We're merely borrowing it.

Despite the signage, the earth is not ‘for rent’. We’re merely short term borrowers. I worry about the condition when we return it.

I cannot begin to recount the whole list of trash and junk that ended up in one of two bags (the find of a smaller bag allowed more material to be picked up).

But there were a few bright moments. A bicyclist who passed me at the moment I rescued some item from a storm drain said “thank you.” So did a walker who noticed me stoop over for a McDonalds wrapper. Much appreciated, folks.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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