Silly Sins and Detours

Never mind the painted windows and the arched doorways or the heavy wooden doors and the shiny crimson roof. Human arrogance manifested, taken form which is meant to be admired. Such beauty in brick on brick, each placed with perfect precision and endless effort. We are the tourists gawking at greatness. Whatever happened to the years invested in these props. Who gave their time in exchange for hope and life, and love. We are the makers, the masons, the lovers.  Such permanence in a moment.

The engine clinks and clanks warning of the inevitable. The next stop is meant to be in 42 miles but who is the driver kidding. He pulls into an old, rundown gas station then clinks and clanks through an apology. With some time to kill we gawk at the tiny, rusted, rained-on building. Some of us go in to get a closer look, to get some water and maybe a treat, too. Some of us take pictures, a stop on the way, a story to tell to a listener we’ve trapped somewhere in the future. A weathered, gray facade with limping windows and a wounded door. We’ve built this. This is human arrogance? Yet invested, just the same, are hope and life, and even love. Pictures taken as though we were gawking at whatever was 42 miles down the road.

The heat is relentless. The smell of rubber and coffee yields to nothing. Time has stopped. The passengers no longer looking at anything in particular as they have now seen it all. The gray facade with limping windows unchanged. We form groups and talk about anything, anything to get time moving again.

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