>> Forgo epilogue for a description of a bin
Absence. A void, constrained. A gap which expects something, but finds itself with nothing, always wanting.
Or does it?
This cavity can be filled. This cavity is round; not quite cylindrical, thanks to the gentle outward taper from base to aperture, but not a cone by virtue of the flat, inverted peak.
The absence that this cavity represents is, ultimately, a positive thing. It's a place where unwanted, unclean, wasted things go to hide. Temporary though it might be, the waste lingers there for a few hours, days, weeks, before being taken away. The absence tells of the successful purging of that which did not need to be where it was, and of a readiness to accept more. It's a friendly, supportive cavity, sometimes with a lid to hide the waste from those who might not wish to see it, that helps to keep everything clean outside, and everything unclean within.
The bin is a great friend to all who seek to segregate things which need to be kept from things which need not to be kept. Things which, under no circumstances, should be allowed to remain in the cupboards, on the worktops, hanging in wardrobes, or mixed into a pesto pasta meal. Without the noble bin there would be chaos and carnage in the kitchen and beyond. Empty loo rolls would flood the staircase, bread bags would choke the oven and receipts, perhaps for a curly wurly or packet of batteries, would clog the drain until no washing up could be completed again. The whole house would be ruined, or turned into a fountain of filth that spills onto the street and smothers the world.
Gratitude be unto the bins, and in particular a single black bin, which lurks outside a house and keeps its lid firmly on its head. A bin which contains bags more often than not; bags which contain nappies more often than not. The smell is confined, the leaks are contained, and the noses and carpets are thereby left unoffended by anything which might otherwise, if the world were not so gentle, kind or filled with bins, have blighted them.
Bins are good. Cherish your bins.
Or does it?
This cavity can be filled. This cavity is round; not quite cylindrical, thanks to the gentle outward taper from base to aperture, but not a cone by virtue of the flat, inverted peak.
The absence that this cavity represents is, ultimately, a positive thing. It's a place where unwanted, unclean, wasted things go to hide. Temporary though it might be, the waste lingers there for a few hours, days, weeks, before being taken away. The absence tells of the successful purging of that which did not need to be where it was, and of a readiness to accept more. It's a friendly, supportive cavity, sometimes with a lid to hide the waste from those who might not wish to see it, that helps to keep everything clean outside, and everything unclean within.
The bin is a great friend to all who seek to segregate things which need to be kept from things which need not to be kept. Things which, under no circumstances, should be allowed to remain in the cupboards, on the worktops, hanging in wardrobes, or mixed into a pesto pasta meal. Without the noble bin there would be chaos and carnage in the kitchen and beyond. Empty loo rolls would flood the staircase, bread bags would choke the oven and receipts, perhaps for a curly wurly or packet of batteries, would clog the drain until no washing up could be completed again. The whole house would be ruined, or turned into a fountain of filth that spills onto the street and smothers the world.
Gratitude be unto the bins, and in particular a single black bin, which lurks outside a house and keeps its lid firmly on its head. A bin which contains bags more often than not; bags which contain nappies more often than not. The smell is confined, the leaks are contained, and the noses and carpets are thereby left unoffended by anything which might otherwise, if the world were not so gentle, kind or filled with bins, have blighted them.
Bins are good. Cherish your bins.