Every time I walk over the Sir John Franklin bridge, the graffiti is different. Today, a school of fish swam along the railroad side of the bridge, in a silent piscine blemish/tribute. I don’t much mind this sort of guerrilla art – it IS a form of art.
To quote the prolific fish artist, Ray Troll “Fish worship: is it wrong?”
On the opposite side of the bridge, looking towards Wellington Crescent, there are several small sand bar islands, which seem to serve as a sort of target practice range for the young and the restless to toss shopping carts onto from the bridge. Why this is appealing, I’ll never know. Every city has one or more place where folks enjoy hurling objects from on-high.
There are geese resting astride the island with the broken wood pillars. They have started their migratory voyage preparation, and can be heard in the evenings, honking as they move southwards for the winter.
It’s a lumpy cemetery! Hurray for St. James!
I would like to call your attention to the marker on the centre left.
Not supposed to be playing here this year, folks.
Here comes another Banjo Bowl weekend.
Go blue and gold.
Go choke on it, green people.
One more, since the old thing will be *gone next year.
(*For non-Peggers: they are building a new stadium in the south of the city. It is not on schedule. This is supposed to be a TARGET retail store in the near future. Whee.)