PLIMATES. The text is still clearly visible on the otherwise worn old paint bucket. It's being used as a temporary-come-permanent flower pot. There's nothing strange about that, except the location. I'm surrounded by greenery, to my left the park with it's bushes and trees, and to the right - just beyond the fence - lies the river, weeds growing on the banks and in the shallows, clear blue water gurgling past. For some unfathomable reason, there's a large collection of potted plants arranged in rows along the sides of the path. It's a haphazard mix of pots; old buckets, Styrofoam boxes, and actual flower pots in all shapes, sizes and colors; with just as varied a mix of plants growing in them. It's so strange to see them here, despite being real living plants they almost feel artificial - sort of out of place in the landscape. I've already taken a bunch of photos but I'm not sure they can fully convey the feeling. As I turn on my camera to snap a few more, one question is at the front of my mind: why would someone - clearly not the gardeners - bring a bunch of random potted plants to a park?
Just around the corner from our house lies a large indoor market. The vendors there sell all kinds of groceries, fruit, vegetables, meat, seafood and spices; whatever you are cooking, you can probably get the ingredients there. The market is so big, in fact, that it spills out of the building onto the surrounding streets, the vendors lining up their stalls – or sometimes just a tarp on the ground – along the curb. In the mornings, especially on weekends, the entire block around the market building is complete chaos; hundreds of people milling about, their paths intertwining as they … Read the rest
The most terrifying sound that I know is that of slowly cracking glass. That long, drawn out crunch as the fissure propagates across the pane, which tells you something is about to go wrong and the worst thing about it is, there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. I did not have this fear two weeks ago...read the rest