Mine is a Very Modest House
Lisa Renee is building houses out of words. She knows how to build a house, does Lisa. Me, I promised to build a tiny house out of words each day for a hundred days. I like to keep my promises. But sometimes I build a pile of sticks instead. I’m not so good at building houses. Sometimes I hack at pieces of wood and they turn into houses. If you try to build enough, eventually your houses won’t fall down. At least, I tell myself that. But this is a pile of sticks.
I’m not really worried about guests, although Lisa and friends do pop by occasionally. That’s nice. I like visitors. But mostly, I like building houses with words just as Lisa does. That’s how I know how many days I’ve been alive: go back and count the days you made something, the things you built. Create and build and design and sew seeds to outlast your days …
But when I’m finished building tiny houses, what shall I do? This is day 67, “house” number 66. The end is closing in.
Perhaps I’ll try to build shitty castles out of bits of paper.
Or I’ll sit with a book and breathe in other worlds and write nothing.
Or I’ll go back to writing in the sand. Better yet, I’ll make sandcastles, and we’ll knock them down and rebuild them together. And knock them down again.
And days will pass by and I’ll be alive for a brief moment and then the water will rise and I’ll vanish, just like the sandcastles.
Yes, I think that is what will happen.
Just as it should.