My son asked me to write out signs that he would dictate to me, and to paste them on his barn (as above). The first few signs contained straightforward instructions about how beings, both sentient and non-, should handle themselves around this structure:
Danger! Keep out of the pen.
Go in the pen.
This gate is closed.
Tractors go in the barn.
But then they began to suggest the sense of memory, nostalgia, and longing for his first home:
Our old house should stay here.
New York City.
New York Harbor.
And, my favorite one (though geographically impossible):
The Bronx is in New York Harbor.
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