A View From A Kitchen is a series on what meets our eye when we look up from our dirty dishes or half-full coffee cup.
I've looked out my windows for eleven years and watched piece after piece fall from the solar frame. Some hung on by rust alone but withstood a guy with a metal saw who tried for a day to cut them down. The buildings behind and to the left of the panels have grown by two illegal floors, one shut down and leaving hanging streamers of blue tape and open windows, the other legally required to demolish but still renting unimpeded.
The tragedy is that the flock of pigeons no longer wheel and swoop in to roost on the cross-bars, too many predators in the sky. One day last summer there were an unbelievable five hawks circling above, barely visible.
When that structure comes down I may have to leave, it's the last abstraction in my view.
a found poem via facebook pics - polar skeletons wander the thin ice soon a drowning doom. droughts and elephants die; dry meat in the sands for scavengers. in venice, the aqua alta higher...
8 hours ago