Soda Run to the Glass House

In my youth, specifically directly after I received my drivers license and the few years following, I spent an obscene amount of time in the car. Experiencing. Escaping. Whatever the reason, I adored being in the car. It was my alone time. My time to sing at the top of my lungs. My time to think. Even if my car broke down, I never really minded all that much, it just made the adventure all that more exciting.
I've never really grown out of that love of driving, and occasionally on nice afternoons, like today, I jump in and go. I went to the country today. My God Mother would call this type of drive a "Soda Run." It's a soda run because you can sip your soda as you drive slowly through the countryside.

Today I was in search of something. The Glass House. I had heard about it. Knew kind of where it was located. When I got there I was terribly disappointed to find it on private property. I couldn't get close. Plus I thought it would be little more colorful. After all, it is made entirely of glass.

But when I looked closer, I was a little more interested. When I zoomed in I could see what I think is the bottoms of glass bottles. Looks like a honeycomb. (Pardon the fuzziness)

The Glass House lives in sad little neighborhood. I love the porch on this old house. Sagging and lonely. I could imagine a bearded old man on a rocking chair sitting there. It looks as if someone still lives in it as there is a fresh pile of wood.