To each it's own

In Oct 1978 i was hitchhiking through the Big Sur in California when i met Red.

He was driving an old Ford truck called Annabel which he stopped in the early morning light to get out, introduce himself and shake hands before inviting me along for what would a very slow 2 day drive to the outskirts of Los Angeles.

The back of his truck was only accessible through a small opening behind the driver’s seat and he would, as need arose, stop driving and disappear into what was surely an Aladinesque collection of everything any one could need or possibly, in the case of the Bonny Scotland brass letter rack that he gave me to hang on my tent, not realise they needed.

His theory was that all things had been made with a purpose and when he found an item that had been discarded he felt the pain of their separation and he protected the object until that time when he could reunite it with a purpose.

I don’t share his feeling for industrial things but when I find a feather that a bird has left - tonight on a track through the forest that I was trying to cycle along having gone way further than intended – I find it difficult to leave it lie.

Especially one as simply beautiful as this.