Seasons

The yard catty-corner from my building basically functions as an enclosed trash heap. Shiny food wrappers, cigarette butts, tallboys of Arizona Tea and bright plastic bits, unidentified, are penned in by a chain-link fence. From my window, I can watch people toss rubbish over the fence as they walk by, as if the whole lot is an oversized trash bin.

This summer vines grew along the chain-link and then started to edge inward and overtake the waste. Several days ago the vines blossomed, their dark plum blooms resembling pools of spilled nail polish on the green creepers.

Why so trashy?