Maybe I’m too much of a pacifist, but this message seems self-contradictory.
There is a whole body of literature of very short stories referred to by names such as flash fiction or micro fiction. The most famous example is attributed to Ernest Hemingway who, according to legend, responded to a challenge to write a short story in ten words or less with this gem: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I don’t know if the writer of this note in a window “shrine” in Asheville was intentionally writing a flash fiction piece, but it certainly qualifies. (Unless it’s actually true, then it would be flash nonfiction, or a flash memoir.)
Below is a photo of the entire window. The eclectic collection of trinkets reminds me of some of the religious shrines I’ve seen in Europe, Ireland most recently–I’ve posted some photos of these before. This shrine in Asheville seems not to have a particular religious basis, but if it does, attending one of their services could be quite interesting.
Through the process of evolution, males of many bird species have developed brightly colored feathers to attract mates. A similar process may be occurring in the newspaper business. The colors may be good at attracting attention, but only the strong survive.
I like this image because, besides the bright colors, it has some interesting lighting effects. Sunlight is reflecting off some windows across the street, spotlighting the fire hydrant and the purple sign which would otherwise be lost in the shadow of the building. The reflected light also creates a shadow from the fire hydrant that lies at a right angle to the rest of the shadows in the photo. Why is that cool? It breaks the mold of the normal patterns in the way things work, or the way we think they ought to work.
I suppose I could have just as well titled this “pole dancers.” This looks like one of those photos where, for dramatic effect, someone converts everything except a few items in the image to black and white. But in this case, no black and white conversion has been done. The walls were painted gray, the asphalt is of course shades of gray and the poster of the dancers in the window was a black and white print. There’s a bit of color in the leaves and detritus on the ground, the dirt spattered on the wall etc., but the only really color of note is the red pole and the stripe on the asphalt.
Imagine Inventing Yellow is the name of a book of poetry by Mary Caroline Richards. I couldn’t find the actual poem on the internet so I guess I’ll have to actually buy the book if I want to read it. Too bad they didn’t put the whole poem right there on the door.
Some of the snow that kept us from driving very far on the Blue Ridge Parkway yesterday. Not that the accumulation was significant at all; they apparently close it at the drop of a hat (or at least the drop of a few flakes). I didn’t come here for warmer weather, although I expected it would be an added benefit. But the high yesterday in Asheville was 48 degrees compared to 70 back in Bozeman. Not complaining really, just commenting.