I sometimes stumble around the neighborhood with a soda can in my hand, looking at fallen trees, counting leaves so I know of enough to cover my compost. We host here rarely outside of my family, so I am a stranger to the cars and people on the streets and in stores.
I build junk and jewelry and leather goods believing someway it serves a greater purpose when really who knows? I live with parents but feel alone, and every night because I can’t sleep I listen to the crickets and hover over a glowing laptop.
I travel nearby now that I have no car, often watch the tumbling trash in the breeze by the roadsides and make note of the stationary trash, likewise. Now and then some item beckons, so I bring it home from wherever and everything happens again.