I
Yesterday, as I sat on my big uprooted driftwood alder tree to write,
the stiff breeze blew an orange plastic bag against my leg
I was intent on my writing, and brushed the bag aside and it rolled down into the creek bed: a bright blob against the green algae
Caught up in my creation, my problems, the worries of the world and my body, I left it there and walked away
Today, there it is again
against my tree
on this very still day
giving me a second chance to carry it away,
that little crinkled symbol of plastic death among the rhythms of life
But also a life-giver itself, because
I can, at least, make one little thing right.
One little leverage point of restoration
Who knows what might follow from that?
II
But it was a piece of orange tissue paper
Not satanic plastic
It would have dissolved on its own, eventually
So to preserve my sense of self-righteousness,
I picked up a green plastic yogurt spoon
and a bottle cap
And put them in the trash
Composed August 25, 2025
Text and photos (c) 2025 Joseph H. Anderson