We are cradled inside a high-walled courtyard of asphalt. There’s a masonry block wall behind the Airstream, and a 10 foot tall corrugated silver wall to the right that dead-ends into the factory building whose property we’re located on; we have a semi-private zone. Inside this zone it is quiet. Outside we hear the basketball games, the clanging of metal in the dumpster next-door, conversation, trucks beeping as they back up, sirens—we have an auditory window into the world. Inside this wall it is sunny and the breeze is gentle. Inside this wall the asphalt ground is cracked, and bursting up from all the cracks are beautiful green plants. I TREASURE my weeds, they make me feel at home. There are grasses with tufted heads, and Ragweed and Milkweed and Sumac. There is a broad-leafed, soft-stalked plant taller than me all around the interior perimeter of the wall. Someone called it Elephant Ear. There is green and metal and asphalt—it’s a kind-of dream. I love this spot. Honestly, it sounds like I’m making the best out of a parking lot, but its really perfect. The intersection of nature and industry is a spot where I can stand very happily and comfortably.