Insulting Piece of Trash

Out on my morning bike ride I peddled along contemplating early summer. Sunflowers just starting to sprout, the hay mowed and waiting to be bailed, a man quietly cultivating his truffle farm, and swallows soaring over the fields. Suddenly my revelry was jarred. There on the side of the road was a piece of trash. A piece of trash -that’s not such an uncommon occurrence, you say - it is here in France. In ten years I have never seen trash on my morning rides. 

I spent the rest of my ride ruminating about that insulting piece of trash. How is it that France has such pristine roadsides?

Here are some reasons that I came up with: 

• France has virtually no take out food or drinks— nope, not even coffee.

• There is no take out because the French believe in sitting down to enjoy food, drinks, friends, time.

• There are no gas stations on every corner selling plastic wrapped junk.

• There are no pickup trucks with stuff floating around in the back bed waiting to blow out.

• There is no eating in the car so there are no wrappers or cans to throw out the window.

The next morning I picked up that aggravating piece of trash and went quietly and peaceably on my way.