Bright, shiny things
In case you’re tired of hearing me complain about mylar balloons, I can assure you that I am, too. But I’m even more weary of seeing them in places where they don’t belong.
In fact, I don’t think these metal-coated-polyester grotesqueries belong anywhere in the world, but especially not on roadsides, in fields, in forests, on public hiking paths, on the Lake Huron shoreline … in all the places I find their garish presence.
Filled with helium, their ribbon leashes slips from fingers; the balloons rise and float until they run out of oomph. Then they fall to earth wherever they happen to be, creating lurid stains that never go away.
It’s a small thing, I know, in the in the whole scope of environmental degradation, but a blight nonetheless.
