A reminder that the sky is always bigger than the land, the road always more open than closed, the future always more present than past.

A reminder that the best to come lies in the shadows and the blind spots and the places in between what we know and what we hope.

A reminder that this limbo is all we have and all we know for sure; this place and this space between religion and nature; between regimentation and interpretation is where we find ourselves and where we are found.

One rises high.

The other higher.

One rules the people.

The other rules the land.

One adheres to the building code and stops just shy of its limits, while the other grows four times as high because it cannot be reined in by ordinances, will not stunt itself to appease the ego of man.

One has been here always and that one will be here still.

After all is said and done, one will rebuild with acorns while the other, without an audience, without man, will succumb to the weight of rubble; will remain for eternity, an inanimate pile of stone.

My house, my home, lies just beyond the red awning. In the blind spot, on the other side of the shadows.

I cross myself and cross my heart.

Hold my breath and run.

The bells and the wind chime and rustle as I clear the threshold of my house, safe on the other side.

I slam the door closed and sink to the floor, brace my back against the warring elements, plug my ears to the dueling concerto, feel my heart settle into a familiar rhythm, count to ten and exhale.