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Someone is copying my photos …

To whom it may concern:

Someone is copying hundreds of my pictures of trash strewn on my driveway.

If you’re the one pirating the photos from my site, I can live with that. The more exposure we give to the menace that is littering and illicit trash disposal, the better. I’m not leaning toward copyright at this time. That is, unless I find you’re using the photos for some other sort of financial gain.

The only thing I’d ask is that you give credit to pickupyourpath.com for the photos you choose to display.

But there’s a more palatable solution to me: Begin to pick up enough junk so that you can create your own trove of photos.

Sincerely,

Dave

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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