Folded thought (ramblings) of the day:

In a deserted field, full of junk and loneliness, surrounded by 
collapsed buildings which once thrived with industry, grows 
a rose.  

The optimist passes and sees it as a sign of hope.  The pessimist 
passes and sees it as a sign of futility.  They cross paths 
without speaking.  

The artist captures the image of the rose to make a statement 
about something he's not even sure he believes.  

The capitalist thinks about the property values around here.  
The environmentalist follows behind, ready to chain 
themself to the rose.  

The opportunist will take the rose.  Someone will stop him.  

The dramatist will think something horrible happened here, 
a long time ago, before the buildings and before our 
westward dreams.  And he will fold these thoughts and 
put them into his pocket.  But he won't leave.  Not just 
yet.