Monday, January 28, 2008

Buried Treasure

Our warm weather seems to have come to an end. Even though it was 50° at 7 AM, the temperatures cooled throughout the day and even as I type this the wind has picked up, dusts of snow are blowing across the orange street lamps and my bones have started to ache.

Much of the snow has melted, revealing all sorts of hidden gems that have been concealed beneath it for the past month. Our walk down to The Glen this evening revealed plenty of goodies which almost make me wish I had to don my big boots and trudge through powder all over again.

First of all, there are the turds. All sorts of turds. Most of them frozen but still colorful. There are the numerous huge diarrhetic pies Cyrus deposited back in November which Tom, his owner, refused to clean up because they were too massive and moist. Then there are the little curly blacks one I imagine were left behind by some small, rat-like lap dog which yips, not barks, in High C. There are the old ones, now yellow and crumbling which, when combined with the fresh ones from the Yellow Lab in the next building, form a minefield which is almost impossible to navigate.

In addition to the plethora of crap littering the back lawn, Duncan and I discovered an empty can of Arizona iced-tea, an unopened fun-size bag of Cheetos, several bleached and empty packs of Orbit gum, a white plastic coat hanger, a USB cord, a brown leather glove, three King Soopers grocery bags still connected, a rotting baseball, a mouldy tennis ball, a roll of twine, an empty matchbox, something I can only assume was once a banana, a string tied around three sad, deflated balloons (two red and a yellow, which I assume are left over from Summerset last September) and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles mask someone quite small must've misplaced last October.

I didn't realize I lived in a dumpster, but the melt has shown me the error of assuming I didn't.

1 comment:

Lori said...

Oh, Curt, it could be worse. I don't even have to venture off my own deck for such an experience. Poor old Sprocket, at 14, simply cannot navigate the Killer Steps of Death, and so our deck is referred to (appropriately) as "The Poop Deck." And with the extended period of sub-freezing temperatures, it's all frozen firmly in place. Like you, I almost long for more snow just to cover it all up again.