Sitting out on my front steps with my cat as I do several times each day, I ponder random ideas as they occur, drifting through my consciousness like the passing breezes.
We’re in a warm spell for late March. I wore my grey cotton onesie over my blue flannel pajamas, and covered everything with a navy blue peacoat. Boot socks and crocs on my feet. No rain at 4:55 AM when Hazel and I took our places this morning, so Hazel was happy. Two days ago we were out at roughly the same time and the temperature was cold; rain was heavy, and Hazel wanted to come back inside after five minutes. But this morning she was content and so was I. Although it was dark I could tell that the air was clean; both by sniffing it and by looking west, down the length of the block across Smith Street, a distance of some 1000 feet, I’d guess. No haze in the air. I could see the cars and streetlights clearly at the intersection of Boundary and Elmwood.
Not so five hours later when Hazel and I once more sat on the front steps. A definite haze in the air, with an organic smell to it. The air was moving with a warm breeze gently blowing. Did the breeze blow some dust or pollen into the neighbourhood. I looked east, to my right, and haze was all around me. Very strange! Hazel didn’t seem to notice, or mind. Then it dawned on me: today was recycle and garden waste day, with garbage trucks moving up and down the alleys.