At one time we lived on a less-than-manicured street in a less-than-sturdy birdhouse of an apartment. The lot next to us was occupied by a condemned house, a reclusive vagrant, an army of squirrels, and an abandoned tub. I have always been fascinated by the clash of industry and nature, the relationship between trains and trees.
It was a dark day in early Autumn, and the wind in the dying foliage sounded like running water. The leaves and vines seemed to tumble out of the bath tub, filling the yard and rushing down the hill in a quiet cataclysm.