Here we see an old pole-mounted fire department call box (retrofitted with call buttons for both the fire department and the police) accompanied by two different types of lights indicating that a call box is nearby.
The older, presumably nonfunctioning, light is mounted on a scrolled bracket that would have once supported an old street lamp. The newer light is the orange-pink cylinder — the thing shaped like a can of tennis balls — on top of the modern street lamp.
(To ward off potential confusion for anyone who starts inspecting street lamps more closely, I should note that you can find on just about every street lamp a shorter cylindrical thing, often colored orange, that resembles a laundry detergent cap. These have nothing to do with call boxes; they're photocells that turn the lamps on and off depending on the amount of daylight. In fact, if you look closely at the newer call box light above — or the one pictured more clearly here — you'll see that it has an orange photocell perched right on top of it.)
Our heedless and destructive acts enter into the vast cycles of the earth and in time return to bring hazard to ourselves.
These two neighboring playgrounds, along with the public school across the street, are named in honor of the conservationist Rachel Carson — "a trained scientist with a poet's wonder" — and her groundbreaking 1962 work Silent Spring.
Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.