Briefly glancing to my left, I see this structure up on the corner, at the intersection. Not even a structure really, a construct.
The purpose of it is unclear. It is not complete. The walls are not walls, just outlines made from wood. Also, there is no fourth wall to complete the square and encapsulate the volume within. It is partly painted bright white; partly dark, bare wood, cracked and aged by weather and wind and the outside.
During that brief glance and then afterward along the rest of my drive home, in silence, not listening to the music playing inside my car; I imagined it to be something more. Curative, protective. I imagined laying in the center of it, on the grass. Looking up at the sky, watching the time pass. I was protected. The outside world, outside. Me, on the inside, protected.
Protected from the outside, from the weather and wind, from time.
