It was deep in the swamp, or what was left of it after governor x and the federal work grant people filled it in to make room for residential housing developments. The world was warping around the old relic of a distant voodoo they hoped might save their old matriarch.

They had to pick up her wheelchair when the soggy soil got too soft, and clear out the moss and leaves that started to act like brake pads as they got stuffed into the little spaces between the wheels.

It was there in front of them finally, a massive dome covered heel to toe in old doors painted in an epiphany of colors she imagined had fabulous names like burnt lilac, barn door red, and daisy yellow.

As they climbed back into the old car with the no good air conditioning and started down the soft moss road, she had a brief feeling of relief. As they sputtered off the gravel road onto the fresh blacktop, her relief turned to panicked wonder: would this old world still be here when it was her moment of need.