The Tin House

There is a house down the street from me completely made of tin. I pass by it each morning on my walk to my favorite little convenient store. As I pass I look at the statue of a gargoyle lurking upon the roof, warding off evil sprits and evil people alike. Sometimes I think as I pass. I think and I wonder, if I am one of those souls the owner of the little tin house wishes to ban. Then My wonder turns down a different path. As I nearly reach the store I look back once more, at the gargoyle, at the little tin house. Why is this house made of tin? What does the gargoyle wish to extinguish?What is he who dwells inside so afraid of that he must build a house of tin and sit upon it an omen against all evil? What is evil?

One day a bad storm came. I had just finished my daily retreat to the store and was back sitting in my bed watching the rain spill violently into the streets, washing away all dirt and evil. I thought of he who must live in that house. Then thunder came. A flash of lightning soared through the air. I wondered if the gargoyle was able to ward off these agents of destruction as well. But of course, no. Surely had a bolt landed upon the little tin house, not even the gargoyle, in all his valor, could save it or he who dwells inside.

 I wonder what it is all for? Why does he inside perch this guardian upon his roof, strap himself in tin and pray for protection from something, From everything? What is he so afraid of? Oh, what troubles him so? And why does he feel so protected in a shack made of tin which Mother Nature could reclaim at any given wink? I wonder, finally, as the storm screams and roars around me, what if we are all just living in little houses made of tin?