The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.
I’ve driven by these structures many times in many seasons. They could be any remnants from the days of the Westward movement, seemingly randomly placed alongside a now-busy highway. Their walls, still sturdy, form the outline of what used to be. Gaping holes which once must have boasted much-sought after glass and framed for heavy wood doors. What were they dreaming of as they carefully hammered each nail, hoisted each plank, and lifted each shingle into place? Why would they choose this place, this spot, to claim for their own? Did desire pound through their hearts as they searched for the American dream, longing for just a piece of land to call their own?
What remains of their hopes are just abandoned walls, clinging to life under the havoc of the elements, of time, a forsaken dream of what once could have been.
What do you cling to when you feel beaten down by your dreams?