They’re starting to show up- those junk piles on the sidewalk spilling into the street. You know, the ones that show up near the end of the month, more so in cities. Mattresses, tables, chairs, anything really. Some junk piles are punctuated with bright plastic children’s toys. In my former years of dumpster diving and side of the road freebie grabbing, I never touched these piles. I knew what they were, and had a certain sense of reverence towards the piles, towards the families that left them. Each pile symbolized a starting over, whether by choice or by eviction. I always felt like these families were evicted. These junk piles, a collection of a family’s essentials and basics. I can see them now, filling black garbage bags with their clothing and a few other things, and walking away from the rest. I’m not even sure who brings their worldly possessions to the curb. The family themselves? Or is it too painful so the landlord does it? Maybe me calling it a junk pile is an ouch moment, too. These are new beginnings. Let’s hope for a new beginning.