Blue Bag

Blue Bag

Sometimes, when I take a pause for thought, I will notice the outside world.

For example, there is a tree located in one of the backyards of the buildings two or three doors down from me. Through my window door I can see that tree. And in that tree there is a blue plastic bag.

Blue Bag has been there ever since I moved back in – over a year ago now.

Blue Bag seems to be firmly stuck; it has survived thunderstorms, hailstorms and rainstorms comfortably and easily. It has braved occasional attacks from pigeons and gulls with smile firmly fixed.

Blue Bag does not ask to be accepted.
Blue Bag does not ask questions.
Blue Bag just sways in the breeze, hanging on to the branches, surveying the scenery.

I wonder where Blue Bag will be another year from now.

Still in the tree, or down on the ground?

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