Hammer on Anvil

On the clothesline out the back of the house the arms of the plastic pegs break off slowly one by one. Under the awning on that side of the house there is direct sun only for a few hours in the morning, but over the weeks more than enough to wreak damage. Currently the cars parked outside the window for the wake next door remind of the usual recourse with the wiper blades in this region: lift the arms of the blades up so that the rubber does not become ruined stuck to the glass of the screen. A few days ago here an article in the newspaper seemed to have let the cat out of the bag regarding green credential in the Republic. How a small island treated its recyclable materials was a question. Shipped up to Malaysia was one possibility. Would there be enough money in such venture, making the transport and handling worthwhile? We all took care, many of us, separating plastic, glass and paper in the hope that something might come of that, only to find it all wasted effort: all household waste, including all renewables, was incinerated and the remnants buried in landfill on an outlying island. No resulting storm as yet from the nascent green/enviro/nature-loving movement.