Litter is typically not my friend. I sneer or sigh, depending on my mood, whenever I see a roadside covered in debris that other people, those less environmentally aware, carelessly toss away without thought about Mother Earth or aesthetics. Litter hating is part of our family identity. My husband has made it his personal mission to pick up litter whenever he hikes or walks. He's been known to bring a small garbage bag with him for just this purpose.
I suspect Hell may have frozen over because, last night, I became infatuated with litter.
My photography instructor told the class to go outside for 20 minutes and take photos of a rather bleak looking college campus. According to him, the lighting was perfect. It was the so-called "golden hour" when the sunlight was just right - not too bright and not too dark.
My first picture was of a tree. But, it wasn't right. There was no color, not just in the evergreen, but everywhere on campus, which had to have been built sometime in the era of architectural blandness. I spent a good share of my minutes searching for early blooming crocuses, the only thing I could think of that would perk up the boring subject matter. Instead, something much more colorful caught my eye.
My husband would have snapped the photos then quietly picked up the trash and put it in the nearby bin. I probably would have on a normal day. But, I left it there decorating its landscape like some twisted version of spring flowers.
It kind of says something about who we are as people, as Americans, doesn't it? We buy, consume and toss, leaving traces of our lives for all to see. Maybe hoping someone, anyone, will see. We were here.