Well no. Not quite
It’s those trees. I was hoping to identify it but can only guess: Eastern cottonwood?
The air has been full of pollen. But they are pretty. Notice rows of corn popping up.
This is just a picture of signs, though you can see pollen here too, if you look hard.
Life is full of signs.
How many do we actually see?
Airports are full of signs that are unseen. I think it’s that there are just too many. People in airports are usually stressed and they go into sensory overload.
Which is what used to happen to me when driving on American freeways. Knowing compass points didn’t necessarily help because often you had to go first in the opposite direction to access your route. Navigating the Seattle area was diabolical, especially before GPS.
Often it’s just a matter of opportunity.
This is a sign we have driven past dozens of times, but the other day as we waited for the light, we happened to draw alongside so I could finally read it.
This is in the town of Schuylerville, where in 1777 the British Army surrendered, following the battle of Saratoga.
(It’s pronounced: “Skylerville”)
Of course, there many other sorts of signs and by no means are they all visual.
Sound. I can never understand people who walk around wearing headphones. Why block out a sense that could save your life?
Whether by hearing an oncoming car or someone running up behind you, or any of a host of such things.
My mother once had a gas oven blow up in front of her because she had a poor sense of smell.
This is a sign of decaying infrastructure.
Grant thinks one day this bridge will collapse into the Hudson. Sadly this is the general state of things.
Politicians in DC sit throwing rocks at each other while everything falls down. Our current Secretary of Transport is fighting to rescue our desperately neglected infrastructure but in two years, chances are the other side will get back in and toss out all he is working for.
In itself, the brokenness of our political system is a sign.
But I can only respond to more immediate signs…
“Any sign of nuts?”
“Please?” (They are awfully polite.)
“Any SIGN of breakfast?”
(She’s not. Polite.)
“Ain’t none in here!”
Any sign of Grant?
Ah. There he is.
He announced just the other day that he was positively done with digging.
Then this morning, further excavations.
This is to offer a run-off for future floods.
Secretly, I think he’s developed an interest in gardening.
So that is a good sign.
Some signs are more subtle...
Whether you take offense or not, is entirely up to you.
“Could you turn the damn light out?”
“You’re not seriously going to write about your foot?”
Well, no. Not seriously anyway.
And not today.
Do I hear a chorus of: “That’s a relief!”
There is one more sign I can offer you but you will have to make allowances for inferior photography. It was a matter of grabbing what I could through window screens.
Signs of fledglings: (Also a very good sign.)
“Mum! I’m hungry Mum!”
“Digging here. Can’t you see I’m digging!”
“Mum! Where you going Mum? Don’t leave me!”
“Well come on you dopey boy!”
“Keep up for goodness sake!”
Starlings. Grant calls them the Biker Gang because they are so noisy and boisterous.