The drives I most liked were the drives home. And it wasn’t because home was at the end of the road, but because the late-afternoon light simplified everything. At that time of day, the world looked like a scale model I’d seen in one of the many hardware stores we visited.
Someone had cut out the trees and set them down along the straight line that out of convention we called a road, someone had whittled a house and put it there (had used steel shears and a gouge). And, following that logic, which the light prompted me to do, someone had fashioned us and put us here.
Great Carpenter, I whispered, as if aiming to irritate someone who was a little deaf.