a quiet dark place is all we need

The other day I kept driving through these themed scenes of exquisite beauty, the kind of trite urban images that catch on the edge of your consciousness until you see them, oddly, three times in a row and on the third time finally slow down to watch.

At the time I made a note of it, to write about later, here. But then I felt a little self-conscious-- after all, one of the repeated scenes was the trapped breeze-dance of a solitary plastic bag. Is everyone sick of that after the movie? It still affects me, although maybe it was just the particular day.