Our street is under construction. Rain washes brick dust into the street. I doubt I could make anything as rich as these colors and shapes.
We're lucky to have new fire hydrants. I wonder what they cost.
These marks signify something underground, something to take care not to disturb.
Is there any point to making art when there are such satisfying finds?
Yes. I'm glad to find this artful sentence from Chekhov: "When one thinks of food, one's heart grows lighter."