The piles of clutter in the backyard at the house two doors down where the hoarder lives increase in size daily. Between stuff packed into white and black trash bags and the loose items, bicycles, ladders, strange grates, or gates, or who knows what type of wire contraptions they all are, the junk is becoming pretty difficult to look past; dare I say impossible. It had been just one large mass of a collection behind his home until someone reported him to the city. He was visited and he tried to correct the issue by moving the outdoor hoard to the garage. When it didn't all fit inside he started a much better hidden pile beside the garage. That pile took on an ugly life of it's own but the one directly behind his house returned to it's original size in no time and then continued to grow.
It looks like a mutated sort of shanty town back there, the scattered litter, the rust, the clutter that might be useful at some point in time when so little is accessible, and the bits of nature that are growing into what should be sound structures, like the massive trees of heaven that are growing literally into the roof of his home. And yet, along virtually the entire length of the rusty chain link fence, of which he dares not pile a single thing because he knows that his neighbors would have it out with him (they are my neighbors too, the only ones I like around here in fact) there are the most beautiful bunches of bright yellow daffodils that have all just popped open their eyes to take in a fresh breath of this beautiful spring air. They radiate beauty. They shine like stars in the darkest night. They glow. They sing; I can hear their music when I look over at them through my small kitchen window. They're like a choir of angels over there, rooted to the ground, long green leaves hugging their feet, stopped for a moment in time next to the rusty fence in the hoarders yard to grace this part of our world with heavenly beauty.
Thank the good Lord for daffodils, when in early spring after the glistening white snow (that covered everything) is long gone and only just a memory, and before leaves have burst forth on their respective trees to cover some of the filth man has cluttered up this world with we still find the beautiful bright yellow daffodils reminding us that there is always beauty.