Detritus is everywhere. It is the trash we choose not to notice. It may be paper, plastic or metal. The red white and blue streamers left over from the Fourth of July, entwined with seaweed on an otherwise pristine stretch of beach. A deflated pink balloon, like Icarus touched by the sun. It is a casually discarded juice carton, or its plastic yellow pull-tab. It might be a crumpled...
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Detritus is everywhere. It is the trash we choose not to notice. It may be paper, plastic or metal. The red white and blue streamers left over from the Fourth of July, entwined with seaweed on an otherwise pristine stretch of beach. A deflated pink balloon, like Icarus touched by the sun. It is a casually discarded juice carton, or its plastic yellow pull-tab. It might be a crumpled coffee of cup, a single shoe, an empty pack of smokes, or one, maybe two, red shotgun shells. It is the bottles, caps and cans left on a riverbank during the last days of summer after sharing a beer with some friends. It?s a plastic bag that once danced in the breeze, grounded in dried up mud, idle. It can be pieces of sea glass, hidden, like jewels on a pebbled shore. Detritus is the vestige of human consumption. Urban, suburban or rural, there are no boundaries to where it lies. A faded rainbow of bits and pieces shaped by design, manufactured in factories and at last obsolete in their functionality. No need to go far to find it. Step outside. It is there, embedded in the ground, at your feet.
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