Debris

I was in Detroit, driving through what was once a pleasant neighborhood. In most blocks, there remained one or two homes with neat yards and a car in the driveway. The rest was overgrown, save for the shells of the few abandoned houses still standing. Driving was hazardous. In the middle of each street were neatly stacked piles of debris: Old Christmas trees, crates, tree branches and rusted trash cans. I cursed this strange maze that made me weave about until, at last, perplexed, I stopped. Each pile of debris covered an open manhole from which the cover had been stolen and sold for scrap, each pile of debris a warning to a motorist like me.

Go in peace to love and serve The Lord!

Josh