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A foot soldier in a neighborhood war…

A quick scan of weather radar added a sense of urgency to this morning’s walk. What occurred to me as my coffee neared its brew cycle is ‘I’d better get a move on’ to beat what was churning through western North Carolina.

The scent of rain was evident the moment I stepped through the front door at 6:21.

This would be a morning to retrieve paper. My focus is typically on non-degradables and when paper is wet from rain it gets a free pass until it dries out; it will always be there the next time around or the time after that. Not so today with moisture on the way.

My 'prisoners' in my weekend war on litter. It's a ware that won't stop but I'll keep fighting back along the battlefront that is my path.

‘Prisoners’ in my weekend war on litter. It’s a war that won’t stop but I’ll keep fighting back along the battlefront that is my path.

I went back and forth between the satisfaction of denying slobs their slobbery and the depressing realization that no day will ever be clear of the trash that continues to appear day after day. I am a foot soldier in a neighborhood war where the battles will be non-stop and waged daily. So it is my duty to trudge onward knowing full well that it’s me against the forces that don’t know better than to junk up our shared environment.

Bring it on. You got nothing that impresses me.

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.

1 Comment on A foot soldier in a neighborhood war…

  1. Bob Furstenau // March 16, 2014 at 9:51 pm // Reply

    Unions are in the game of litter now and probably always have been…I was just a bit shocked to find this sign on my walk in Des Moines

    [image.jpeg]

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