This old can is dented and pocked with holes, one side missing in a jagged outline like someone with a shotgun used it for target practice. I snagged the can from the bottom of Lake Nokomis while jigging for walleyes in my waders. I don’t recall if I caught any fish that evening. Probably not. I know I was tickled about catching the can. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I took it home in my five-gallon bucket and secreted it away in the rafters of my basement. God only knows how many years it had been resting there in the muck and gravel amongst the tendrils of milfoil like an aquarium decoration. The can is flimsy, dissolved by time, with a mossy coating of algae. I suspect it is a beer can but the copper lettering on the side is far too faint to discern. I have always been fascinated by unusual garbage. I’ll place the can in my recycling bin eventually. I won’t keep it forever. But I keep it for now because I am sentimental and I like to be reminded that there is beauty in decay because my can is decaying too.

If you’re wondering how I created the bold scarlet background in the photographs, here is a clue: