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It’s the first delicious fall-ish day after a flood-foolish spring and a burning-in-Hades, smoky summer. I’m exploring long-neglected paths along the Boise river. An opening through the brush beckons me to the water’s edge.I catch my breath at the sublime beauty. A natural still life pulls my eyes downward.

It’s lovely, isn’t it?

Then something unlovely exerts its presence.Sigh—I reach to pick them up. Much like pulling weeds or eating Lay’s potato chips, you can’t just quit with one or two. There’s another, and another, and three more, and, oh dog!

My palm runneth over.

I return to the garbage can, placed conveniently just at the trail’s edge near where this path dives over to the river—a mere 300 yards. I rid myself of this filthy, smelly mess and continue my walk.

Back at home, I review my photos and find that there was a butt lurking in my beautiful still life. Did you see it there?

My greetings to any and all smokers who have ever or ever will leave their butts on the ground for someone else to deal with. Would your mother let you get away with doing that in her living room? Then why would you do that in our collective living room? May you die slowly, painfully, and gasping for air.