There’s a garbage dump in the Orphaned Woods. Bottles, bedsprings, the tub of an old washing machine, a stack of plastic cups, a milk can, and a grinding stone.
Most old houses and farms in the country have at least one. I like to visit the dump as the seasons change. Like the rest of the woods, the dump is ever-evolving. Some of the garbage sinks lower into the ground, covered a little more each year with decaying leaves. And some of it pops up, exposed by the melting snow and rain.
There were two unbroken jars in the dump laying on top of the ground, their caps still in place. I picked one up curious about the jar itself but found what was underneath even more interesting.
The empty jar was acting as little greenhouses. Sunlight and warmth passed through it enough to grow a mat of vibrant green moss. Bright life surrounded by last year’s leaves.
I put the jar back on top of the moss and put one of the little plastic cups in my coat pocket. If I remember I’ll take a bag with me next time I go into the woods and get the rest of the cups. My initial thought was to throw them away, but who knows I may find a use for them.