I am the house, with the hallway reaching out to you, door open. You are the pedestrian walking by.

I was a pedestrian too, with legs roaming around the neighborhood. I looked over and saw an open plot in a sunny and clear area. Curious I went to investigate the plot and I sat down in the middle and became a house.

Now my door is open and I am loosing heat. It is winter now and my inside walls become cool with the weather. But I keep my door open, hoping you will come inside.

I am an abandoned house open to the elements, but my door is open with a hallway reaching to the street, by the pedestrian. I may be cold inside, and my house has wood that creaks, but I keep my door open. Because I know that I can quickly go from my cold frame to a warm home when the pedestrian comes in and turns on the heat.

I was a pedestrian once, wandering. And I know that pedestrians have a journey, so I look as they walk by. I know there are places to go, but I am here as a house now. I can’t walk with you, but I can keep you dry when it rains, and comforted when it blows. The pedestrian might want to choose to live here, and through my eyes I can show them the Spring when it comes. But I am the House.

Now my door is still open, and I’m getting colder and drafty. But my door is still open.