A large clear plastic bag rolls down the freeway shoulder with elegance. Its aged dust-colored translucence personifies delicacy; tendrils of plastic whirl like an undersea creature. Trundling parallel to concrete, the bag hops happily and transforms into a frisky terrier. A gust carries it aloft, twisting the bag into a floating pair of lungs.  Pareidolia—one of the finest functions of our brains.  Urban landscapes of the corrupted, the corroded resonate when we attach meaning.   Weeds bursting through concrete symbolize victory, just as floating-lung bags suggest freedom. What higher mental function is there? Why waste time on anything else but the cinema of creative interpretation?

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