watching dry paint

By lensbrush

the gathering

What is it about the daily accretions of visual 'stuff' that give me pause to appraise. I live in a neighbourhood that offers sea views, yachts and high-rises, people and pets, lakes and parks, trams and ferris wheels; and yet here I am (again) looking at power poles and road signs, rusty iron and flaking paint. Strange clouds and silhouettes abound. My kind of place.

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