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The wind gets inside a small, plastic flower pot that has blown on to the road. The pot dances and jumps, wobbles and trips, stops and stares and gapes at whatever is in front of it, as though shocked by what it sees. The wind blows into the pot, shoves it here and there, puffs through it and emerges from the little drainage holes in the base. It is a living pot leading a carefree life dictated by unforeseen and unknowable forces.
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From our bedroom window this morning I watch the remaining leaves on the tulip tree flutter in front of the cloud-creamy light of the sun. They flash in their fixed positions like numbers on a screen.
4 comments:
Oooooo...beautiful leaf! Love the colors in it.
I often wish to take off like your carefree pot, letting the unforseen toss me here and there. Emphasis on the carefree bit.
:)
I expect you'll turn over a new leaf tomorrow...
A French film director - un auteur, sans doute - once filmed a plastic supermarket bag blowing around in alleyway. The passage lasted over a minute and was utterly hypnotic; after several seconds I found myself wanting to say "Mr Bag, a career awaits you at Sadlers Wells." More anthropomorphism, more base-metal transmutation - after all could there be anything more squalid than a supermarket bag?
Sam Mendes. American Beauty. It was indeed fascinating. I remember recently watching a plastic bag - alive, alive O - performing on a disused bowling green for several minutes. I couldn't drag myself away.
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