the creek, the guardrail, the cars, and the shadows of leaves
There is a tiny creek that I love to pass by; it's a little cleft in the land, and it's protected from automotive intrusion by a guardrail. This winter, the guardrail was not sufficiently strong to prevent a wayward car from forcing its attentions on the creek:

For several months thereafter, the guard rail lay like that, much more intimate with the creek than it had every been before. Finally, the highway department put in a shiny new guardrail.
. . . But the other day I went by and . . .

This time it almost looks deliberately rammed, as if its very shininess was provocation.
There's shivered safety glass in the crannies:

I like the green shadows of the leaves on the post:


For several months thereafter, the guard rail lay like that, much more intimate with the creek than it had every been before. Finally, the highway department put in a shiny new guardrail.
. . . But the other day I went by and . . .

This time it almost looks deliberately rammed, as if its very shininess was provocation.
There's shivered safety glass in the crannies:

I like the green shadows of the leaves on the post:

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It's a mystery. The corner is very gentle.
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In fact, the metal bow of it, it looks like a boat.
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Here where I live, you are always on the lookout for corners because they are so common here. But people who visit from parts of the country where corners are much rarer are often caught out by our wild corners and therefore come to grief.
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There's a wicked (90 degree) turn on my street between here and my office. I have seen the aftermath of many cars not making the turn, with track marks in the swamp or on the snow. Last month, they finally put in a guard rail. I wonder how long before ours looks like yours?
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Not without your sympathetic and imaginative viewing! For which, thank you. I wonder if I could lead crowd-sourced investigations: present the photographic evidence and see what truths visitors deduced.
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You would probably get good insights from each witness, but then you would have to sort through the Rashomon Effect. Truth would be elusive, but interesting stories would abound.
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He was a very tall faded red-headed driller (and company owner) I worked for in Western Colorado. A very gentle big guy, but probably not one you wanted to get riled when he was a young man.
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Red Eddy sounds like a character out of a tall tale, himself.
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That's a beautiful way of putting it, and something I want to believe.