I sat by the river in my car today, and I noticed a ripped up plastic bag stuck in a tree; it was very windy outside as you know. Plastic bags in trees always stay stuck there. Isn’t it interesting how the least important of things hang on? They stay, stubborn, knowing they’re not important, but the beautiful things, the important things, and things that reveal truth, get brushed aside. Someone you really care about dies. The ripped plastic bag stays fiercely against the wind.