I think that you, like me, need a short break. A breather. A moment to ourselves in order to digest what I have posted so far about Abused Woods Park.
Or, maybe you'd like to look at a few more-artful photos in between the onslaught of sad and horrifying pictures that my long-form journalistic professionalism demands that I show you, Dear Non-Reader, before we move on to Part Three.
Well, either way, here they are:
Yes.
Indeedy.
Even in or among or with or despite of a place like Abused Woods Park, one can find a certain malcontent beauty to the world. Yes, even a prisoner likes to hear a bird song, even a psychiatrist enjoys a comic book, the bureaucrat a Sloppy Joe, the politician a prostitute. Yes, even the executioner sits down for a beer.
Or some such . . .
Okay. That's it for a break. I shall return to the next chapter of this overexposure of how the trees live (and die) upon Soybean Island. Very soon.
Goodbye from Soybean Island
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