No, I have no idea what this picture is, other than perhaps a tree that grew around some manmade item of some kind, but my story for Friday Fictioneers is prompted by it. Please join me!
He couldn't let it rest until he named it. His soul paced up and down even while his body was stuck in a bus seat--foot tapping, eyes casting among the passengers, against the blur beyond the window.
This was familiar--often he awoke bewildered, until a triangle became a tilted doorway or a threat resolved to his coat hunched menacingly over a chair.
He had not noticed it before at the bus stop. How was that? It seemed a PVC or plaster T-joint with clay extensions had climbed the tree he customarily leaned against, nestled into the crook, and extended one clay tube up to listen, to look, to what?
He would shinny up the tree to find out, after work, if he COULD work. Or stay on the bus and go back to know.That's 136 words.