En Route

On my monotonous walk to where I wait every morning, someone would see a slowly inclining hill, lined with houses a moderate distance apart. They'd see perpetual icicles hanging like soldiers from the faulty gutters. At the top of the hill, they'd see a dim, naked forest, skeletal giants standing pin-straight against the navy sky. Down they'd go now, leaning back just a bit to keep themselves steady. Just straight from there.