|
|
Every now and then I start to wonder about life. Not so much about mine, not so much about yours, but about life as it is general. I was driving home around half past noon. The same way, the same way always. But, at high noon, in the middle of summer, some things look crisper, some things look duller.
An old house, small on a big lot of full of dry grass, looked crisper. It is quite old. Its lack of size dates it to a time when big things did not matter; the chipped white paint and a shutter hanging by only a single brace also dates it to time’s past.
As if the perfectly centered sun in the sky illuminated only the house itself, I took a good long look at it. There were four vehicles lining the dirt driveway. All, too, were from a different time than the one I find myself in the throws of. One word came to me, one word for the house, the land, and the vehicles. Neglect.
Judging by the design of the...
|
|
