The book looks at the history of how America viewed & handled its trash, from colonial days to the present. It traces how reuse went from necessity, to outdated custom, to counterculture, then back into vogue. She tracks how industrialization, sanitation, & consumer culture influenced what we consider trash & how we dispose of it. Some sections were interesting, but others dragged. A great read for trash nerds, but a bit dated, & may not appeal to a general audience.
summer's red result;
hard work's slow, well-earned reward:
that first tomato
Come to think of it, this is the first one I've heard all summer.
a rasping beacon
on a stifling summer night
his chirps unanswered
Walked a trail in a large park. There are parts where I can almost forget I'm still in the city. Not sure who was more startled- me, or the heron that sprang up out of nowhere at one point while I looked at a stream.
city sanctuary
the heron rises, silent
startled by my steps
garden inspector:
electric blue dragonfly
hovers in the heat
unsettled wind chimes
the trees whispering rumors
of rain, of relief
faint light, fading fast,
lonely beacons of summer:
mid-july fireflies
reminder & reward,
the reason it's all worthwhile:
summer tomatoes
lone gladiola
droops, regretting its choice to
bloom in a heatwave
these picky eaters
bees snub the flower garden
to feast on lawn weeds
oddly relaxing
to watch someone work so hard
bustling bumblebee
I had no idea how big these things were until I saw one on a flatbed trailer at a state highway rest stop.
up close and still
a single wind turbine blade
scale, reimagined
the cars’ hazy plumes
trundling over the bridge
the boat's wide wake
cutting across the river
oblivious, endless flows
Turkeys were native to NH, then hunted to extinction. After an initial failed attempt, they were successfully reintroduced in the 70s.
on a walk with dad
the turkeys, too, silently strut
unlikely neighbors
https://www.wildlife.nh.gov/wildlife-and-habitat/species-occurring-nh/eastern-wild-turkey
highway median
a glimpse of former glory
sea of wildflowers
the sun slowly rose
red-eyed like the lone weary
traveler
prefers the deep woods
small, occasionally prickly
creature of few words