Subtitle of the Day: Confusing Public Art

It begins on my lunch break. I grab a bagel and a coffee and begin to prowl the streets of my fair city. The windchill cuts like a knife, and I'm practically the only one out. I can feel the eyes of the people inside the department stores and delicatessens as they watch me. This is a very gray place, with an excessive amount of dirty, polluted rivers, but every now and again I stumble across something beautiful.

Today was not one of those days.

I found it in a small green space hemmed in on all sides by concrete. Some construction, vageuly Stonehenge-ish, formed of several fifty-gallon drums, each painted green and stenciled with the name of a continent, and each connected to the others by green rope. They were arranged in a circle around what appeared to be a giant blue wrecking ball with funny green knobs sticking out of it. Inside each of the drums was an odd mixture of trash and ice and leaves. There was a tiny little sign that said "Do Not Touch," but that's it; there was no word of explanation at all.

I'm still rather baffled by the whole thing.