Three to See the King

21

I live in a house built entirely from tin, with four tin walls, a roof of tin, a chimney and door. Entirely from tin.

My house has no windows because there’s nothing to see. Oh, there are shutters that can be opened to let the light in when required, but mostly they remain closed against the weather. It stands in a wild place, my house, high up on the plain. At night it creaks and groans as the wind hammers it for hour after hour, seeking a gap to get inside. I used to worry that in such harsh conditions it might one day fall apart. Now, though, I’m certain the structure is quite sound. The man who built it made sure of that.

I’ve heard he intends eventually to return and begin his work again. If he does, of course, he will be most welcome as his knowledge is second to none, but so far there’s been no sign of him.

From time to time people come wandering onto this plain in search of a better place to be. Some of them say they want to live as I do, protected from the elements by a layer of corrugated metal and nothing more. If they ask me for guidance, I tell them they can find comfort here as long as they don’t expect too much. Some slay: others move on.

This house of mine has served me well. Though only built from tin, it held together while kingdoms were being swept away. It is both my refuge and my fortress. Let it be your temple.