collections

George and I go for a walk most days, through our neighborhood and into the little downtown area just a few blocks away. Nearly every day we pass by a house with a porch and double ramp that fills most of the small front yard. All of the railings and "garden" areas are covered with outdoor decorations, all faded, all sad. They proclaim "love grows here," "happy halloween," "the person who lives here likes shiny things" to every passer-by. Flowers and butterflies are overlaid with skeletons and misshapen woodland creatures, spinning geometric shapes tangle with the remains of creeping ground cover. Usually I am torn between averting my gaze and staring fixedly at one sun bleached relic or another. Today, however, my attention was drawn to the rubbish bin, set curbside, where a few bits of yard flotsam peeked out over black bags and cardboard boxes.  The fact that anything at all had been thrown away, out of this wasteland, was a bit shocking - it means that this weird collection is in some way curated...

Three houses down is a yard full of terracotta heads.