Scenery Of Home

Not by utility does the circuit bloom; not by effort must the copper thread hold its shape. It sits within the frame like stone upon stone, forming the wall where the outside stays out. A hum without demand—a song whose purpose was satisfied long ago. The house is no longer built of parts, but of moments that decided they were mine. In the quiet thicket of the code, some things just belong.

By being here, they make us whole. No further proof is needed for the garden to grow. They are simply sceneries, waiting under our gaze to become part of the ground.