Accidental art

In the summer I park the car in the driveway, right under the trees, leaving the garage free to accumulate mysterious junk.  Now the trees are leaking sticky stuff.  The windows are smeared.  The left rear door stuck shut.  I have been to the car wash in Elk Rapids twice in the last week. 

I love car washes.  They’re hypnotic, and they cost less than other amusement parks.  They afford the distractable many opportunities to practice artism.

Tom Ford, a naturalist for Wild Birds Unlimited in Traverse City, has an explanation for the goo I washed away.  He says aphids are vomiting on my car.  Or worse.  He also claims hummingbirds eat aphids, so I suppose I’ll go buy some hanging baskets full of fuschia and lobelia and keep Miss Puss indoors.  I’ll miss the car wash though.