I passed it last week on my rush to the morning
train: a heap of broken glass
. Nothing unusual
but it started me wondering whether all glass
breaks into little uneven
squares, or just
. And how it gets a green
look along the
edges, this clear
stuff we look through all day.
I passed it on my walk to the
train, it was Sunday, I had time. The glass sat
in a shallow patch of water, not deep enough to
be called a puddle. Half submerged. I had a
hard time breathing, for a minute. If ever I had
wished to be a photographer, that was the moment.
It shone even though the sun wasn't out. Clear,
sparkling and one thousand other cliches.
It hurt to look at.
Yesterday, on my way home
I notice a few scattered chunks of glass lying
around. Remnants of beauty, once more reduced to
mild pondering. I wonder how the glass got all the
way over here, past the grass and onto the wide
sidewalk to begin with.