The Crow in Your Brain
Jonathan Edward Durham, an author whose feed the dreaded F*c*b**k algorithmically suggested to me, posted that when he starts to recycle a glass jar, his inner Crow Brain demands that, no, we must KEEP IT and PUT LITTLE SHINY TRINKETS IN IT.
I get this? I must now specifically wash and recycle glass jars: we have to drive them to the county admin offices up the road a mile or two, park, and gently feed the now magically shiny glass containers through a flapped hole in a purple steel dumpster. Purple dumpster is a giant musical instrument, echoing with the sounds of each rolling, shifting, bouncing bottle or jar, as it makes a place for itself in the community of glass.
Occasionally, there is shattering counterpoint, as one slides too quickly and gives up stored energy and utility and smashes. The echoing sound makes you see it in the mind's eye, that loss in the semi-darkness.
This recycling process has made all that glass I had previously just tossed away feel strangely valuable. The process itself makes you look at and handle each piece individually. Each one seems more useful. Crow Brain says: This clear former pickle jar, cleverly shaped like a wide barrel, complete with staves, all tactile and modeled as part of the glass, is a work of art. Some man or woman designed this. It would be a crime not to keep it and fill it with something colorful and pretty.
The crows are onto something.